
Book_ , P3 



\XXo 



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-^HE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

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THE 

GOLDEN TREASURY 

SELECTED FROM THE BEST SONGS AND 

LYRICAL POEMS LN THE ENGLISH 

LANGUAGE AND ARRANGED 

WITH NOTES 

BY 

FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE 

LATE PROFESSOR OF POETRY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD 



REVISED AND ENLARGED 
WITH ADDITIONAL POEMS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON; MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 

1920 

All rights reserved 









^*%' ^fecvL<LAA-4jcr>sj 



TO 

ALFRED TENNYSON 

POET LAUREATE 

This book in its progress has recalled often to my 
memory a man with whose friendship we were once 
honoured, to whom no region of EngHsh Literature 
was unfamiliar, and who, whilst rich in all the noble 
gifts of Nature, was most eminently distinguished by 
the noblest and the rarest, — ^just judgment and high- 
hearted patriotism. It would have been hence a 
peculiar pleasure and pride to dedicate what I have 
endeavoured to make a true national Anthology of 
three centuries to Henry Hallam. But he is beyond 
the reach of any human tokens of love and reverence ; 
and I desire therefore to place before it a name united 
with his by associations which, while Poetry retains 
her hold on the minds of Englishmen, are not likely 
to be forgotten. 

Your encouragement, given while traversing the 
wild scenery of Treryn Dinas, led me to begin the 
work ; and it has been completed under your advice 
and assistance. For the favour now asked I have 
thus a second reason : and to this I may add, the 
homage which is your right as Poet, and the gratitude 
due to a Friend, whose regard I rate at no common 

value. 

b 



Permit me then to inscribe to yourself a book 
which, I hope, may be found by many a lifelong 
fountain of innocent and exalted pleasure ; a source 
of animation to friends when they meet ; and able to 
sweeten solitude itself with best society, — with the 
companionship of the wise and the good, with the 
beauty which the eye cannot see, and the music only 
heard in silence. If this Collection proves a store- 
house of delight to Labour and to Poverty, — if it 
teaches those indifferent to the Poets to love them, 
and those who love them to love them more, the aim 
and the desire entertained in framing it will be fully 
accomplished. 

F.T.P. 

May: i86i 



PREFACE 

This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others 
in the attempt made to include in it all the best original 
Lyrical pieces and Songs in our language (save a very 
few regretfully omitted on account of length), by 
writers not living, — and none beside the best. Many 
familiar verses will hence be met with ; many also 
which should be familiar : — the Editor will regard as 
his fittest readers those who love Poetry so well, that 
he can offer them nothing not already known and 
valued. 

The Editor is acquainted with no strict and 
exhaustive definition of Lyrical Poetry ; but he has 
found the task of practical decision increase in clear- 
ness and in facility as he advanced with the work, 
whilst keeping in view a few simple principles. 
Lyrical has been here held essentially to imply that 
each Poem shall turn on some single thought, feeling, 
or situation. In accordance with this, narrative, 
descriptive, and didactic poems,— unless accompanied 
by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the colouring 
of human passion, — have been excluded. Humourous 
poetry, except in the very unfrequent instances where 
a truly poetical tone pervades the whole, with what is 
strictly personal, occasional, and religious, has been 
considered foreign to the idea of the book. Blank 
verse and the ten-syllable couplet, with all pieces 
markedly dramatic, have been rejected as alien from 
what is commonly understood by Song, and rarely 
conforming to Lyrical conditions in treatment. But 
it is not anticipated, nor is it possible, that all readers 
shall think the line accurately drawn. Some poems, 
as Gray's Elegy, the Allegro and Penseroso, Words^ 
worth's Ruth or Campbell's Lord Ullin, might be 
claimed with perhaps equal justice for a narrative or 
descriptive selection : whilst with reference especially 
to Ballads and Sonnets, the Editor can only state that 
he has taken his utmost pains to decide without caprice 
or partiality. 



This also is all he can plead in regard to a poinl 
even more liable to question ; — what degree of merit 
should give rank among the Best. That a poem 
shall be worthy of the writer's genius, — that it shall 
reach a perfection commensurate with its aim, -that 
we should require finish in proportion to brevity, — 
that passion, colour, and originality cannot atone for 
serious imperfections in clearness, unity or truth, — 
that a few good lines do not make a good poem, that 
popular estimate is serviceable as a guidepost more 
than as a compass, — above all, that excellence should 
be looked for rather in the whole than in the parts, — 
such and other such canons have been always steadily 
regarded. He may however add that the pieces 
chosen, and a far larger number rejected, have been 
carefully and repeatedly considered ; and that he has 
been aided throughout by two friends of independent 
and exercised judgment, besides the distinguished 
person addressed in the Dedication. It is hoped that 
by this procedure the volume has been freed from that 
one-sidedness which must beset individual decisions : 
— but for the final choice the Editor is alone 
responsible. 

Chalmers' vast collection, with the whole works of 
all accessible poets not contained in it, and the best 
Anthologies of different periods, have been twice 
systematically read through : and it is hence im- 
probable that any omissions which may be regretted 
are due to oversight. The poems are printed entire, 
except in a very few instances where a stanza or 
passage has been omitted. These omissions have been 
risked only when the piece could be thus brought to a 
closer lyrical unity : and, as essentially opposed to 
this unity, extracts, obviously such, are excluded. In 
regard to the text, the purpose of the book has 
appeared to justify the choice of the most poetical 
version, wherever more than one exists ; and much 
labour has been given to present each poem, in 
disposition, spelling, and punctuation, to the greatest 
advantage. 

In the arrangement, the most poetically-effective 
order has been attempted. The English mind has 
passed through phases of thought and cultivation so 



various and so opposed during these three centuries o\ 
Poetry, that a rapid passage between old and new, 
like rapid alteration of the eye's focus in looking at 
the landscape, will always be wearisome and hurtful 
to the sense of Beauty. The poems have been there- 
fore distributed into Books corresponding, I to the 
ninety years closing about i6i6, II thence to 1700, 
III to 1800, IV to the half century just ended. Or, 
looking at the Poets who more or less give each 
portion its distinctive character, they might be called 
the Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray, and Words- 
worth. The volume, in this respect, so far as the 
limitations of its range allow, accurately reflects the 
natuial growth and evolution of our Poetry. A 
rigidly chronological sequence, however, rather fits a 
collection aiming at instruction than at pleasure, and 
the wisdom which comes through pleasure : — within 
each book the pieces have therefore been arranged in 
gradations of feeling or subject. And it is hoped 
that the contents of this Anthology will thus be found 
to present a certain unity, ' as episodes,' in the noble 
language of Shelley, ' to that great Poem which all 
poets, like the co-operating thoughts of one great 
mind, have built up since the beginning of the 
world.' 

As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he 
may add without egotism, that he has found the vague 
general verdict of popular Fame more just than those 
have thought, who, with too severe a criticism, would 
confine judgments on Poetry to ' the selected few o( 
many generations.' Not many appear to have gaine(^ 
reputation without some gift or performance that, in due 
degree, deserved it : and if no verses by certain writers 
who show less strength than sweetness, or more 
thought than mastery of expression, are printed in 
this volume, it should not be imagined that they have 
been excluded without much hesitation and regret, — ■ 
far less that they have been slighted. Throughout 
this vast and pathetic array of Singers now silent, few 
have been honoured with the name Poet, and have 
not possessed a skill in words, a sympathy with beauty, 
a tenderness of feeling, or seriousness in reflection, 
which render their works, although never perhaps 



attaining that loftier and finer excellence here required, 
— better worth reading than much of what fills the 
scanty hours that most men spare for self-improve- 
ment, or for pleasure in any of its more elevated and 
permanent forms. — And if this be true of even 
mediocre poetry, for how much more are we indebted 
to the best ! Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, 
but with a more various power, the magic of this Art 
can confer on each period of life its appropriate 
blessing : on early years Experience, on maturity 
Calm, on age, Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures 
' more golden than gold,' leading us in higher and 
healthier ways than those of the world, and interpret- 
ing to us the lessons of Nature. But she speaks best 
for herself. Her true accents, if the plan has been 
executed with success, may be heard throughout the 
following pages : — wherever the Poets of England are 
honoured, wherever the dominant language of the 
world is spoken, it is hoped that they will find fit 
audience. 

i86i 

Some poems, especially in Book I, have been 
added : — either on better acquaintance ; — in deference 
to critical suggestions ; — or unknown to the Editor 
when first gathering his harvest. For aid in these 
after-gleanings he is specially indebted to the excellent 
reprints of rare early verse given us by Dr. Hannah, 
Dr. Grosart, Mr. Arber, Mr Bullen,. and others, — 
and (in regard to the additions of 1883) to the advice 
of that distinguished Friend, by whom the final choice 
has been so largely guided. The text has also been 
carefully revised from authoritative sources. It has still 
seemed best, for many reasons, to retain the original 
limit by which the selection was confined to those then 
no longer living. But the editor hopes that, so far as 
in him lies, a complete and definitive collection of our 
best Lyrics, to the central year of this fast-closing 
century, is now offered. 

1 883- 1890- 1 89 1 



Contients 



Dedication 

Preface page 

Book I. . . 1 

Book II 56 

Book III 133 

Book IV 197 

Additional Poems 349 

Notes 4:^5 

Index of "Writers 463 

Index of First Lines ........ 475 



Etj rhv \€iij.wva Kudiffas, 

alp6iu.€vos &ypeviii avdewv 
a5o/x4va. \^ux9 



§0oh Jfirst 



SPRING 

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king 
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing. 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 

The palm and may make country houses gay, 
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay. 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo. 

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, 
In every street these tunes our ears do greet, 
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
Spring ! the sweet Spring I 
T. Nash 



BOOK 

II 

THE FAIR V LIFE 



Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 

In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 

There I couch, when owls do cry : 

On the bat's back I do fiy 

After summer merrily. 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 

Under the blossom that hangs on tl^e bough 



III 



Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands : 
Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd 

The wild waves whist. 
Foot it featly here and there ; 
And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear. 
Hark, hark ! 

Bow-bow. 
The watch-dogs bark : 

Bow-wow. 
Hark, hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 

W. Shakespeare 



IV 

SUMMONS TO LOVE 

Phoebus, arise ! 

And paint the sable skies 

With azure, white, and red : 

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed 



FIRST 

That she may thy career with roses spread : 

The nightingales thy coming each-where sing : 

Make an eternal Spring ! 

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 

Spread forth thy golden hair 

In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 

And emperor-like decore 

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : 

Chase hence the ugly night 

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 

— This is that happy morn, 

That day, long-wished day 

Of all my life so dark, 

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn 

And fates my hopes betray). 

Which, purely white, deserves 

An everlasting diamond should it mark. 

This is the morn should bring unto this grove 

My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 

Fair King, who all preserves, 

But show th}' blushing beams. 

And thou two sweeter eyes 

Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 

Did once thy heart surprize. 

Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise : 

If that ye winds would hear 

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 

Your furious chiding stay ; 

Let Zephyr only breathe, 

And with her tresses play. 

— The winds all silent are, 

And Phoebus in his chair 

Ensaffroning sea and air 

Makes vanish every star : 

Night like a drunkard reels 

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels : 

The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, 

The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue ; 

Here is the pleasant place — 

And nothing wanting is, save She, alas ! 

W. D^'umniond of Hawthorndett 



BOOK 

V 

TIME AND LOVE 



When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age ; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, 
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; 

When I have seen such interchange of state, 
Or state itself confounded to decay. 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
That Time will come and take my Love away : 

— This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

IV. Shakespeare 



Q^-^'*'- 



Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, (^^ 
But sad mortality o'ersways their power, {^ 
Plow with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, fX 
Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? {^ 

O how shall summer's honey breath hold out ■'■_ 
Against the wreckful siege of battering days, ;* 
When rocks impregnable are not so stout c , 
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? "''*- 

O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! .L > 

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ?-t 
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, { 
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? L^ 

O ! none, unless this miracle have might, ^? 
That in black ink my love mav still shine bright.^' 

IV. Shakesp^bn-e 

I 



FIRST 



THE PASSION A IE SHEPHERD TO HIS 
LOVE 

Come live with me and be my Love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will we sit upon the rocks 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee 1 eds of roses 
And a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

A gown made of the finest wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull. 
Fair lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold. 

A belt of straw and ivy buds 
With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move. 
Come live with me and be my Love. 

Thy silver dishes for thy meat 
As precious as the gods do eat, 
Shall on an ivory table be 
Prepared each day for thee and me. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May-morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move. 
Then live with me and be my Love. 

C. Marlowe 



BOOK 

VIII 

OMNIA VINCIT 

Fain would I change that note 
To which fond Love hath charm'd me 
Long long to sing by rote, 
Fancying that that harm'd me : 
Yet when this thought doth come 
' Love is the perfect sum 

Of all delight,' 
I have no other choice 
Either for pen or voice 

To sing or write. 

Love ! they wrong thee much 
That say thy sweet is bitter, 
When thy rich fruit is such 

As nothing can be sweeter. 
Fair house of joy and bliss, 
Where truest pleasure is, 
I do adore thee : 

1 know thee what thou art, 
I serve thee with my heart, 

And fall before thee ! 
Anon. 



A MADRIGAL 

Crabbed Age and Youth 
Cannot live together : 
Youth is full of pleasance, 
Age is full of care ; 
Youth like summer morn, 
Age like winter weather, 
Youth like summer brave, 
Age like winter bare : 



FIRST 

Youth is full of sport, 
Age's breath is short, 
Youth is nimble, Age is lame : 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold. 
Youth is wild, and Age is tame : — 
Age, I do abhor thee, 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 
O ! my Love, my Love is young ! 
Age, I do defy thee — 
O sweet shepherd, hie thee. 
For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
W. Shakespeare 



Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

W. Shakespeare 



BOOK 



XI 



It was a lover and his lass 

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass 
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing hey ding a ding : 

Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

Between the acres of the rye 
These pretty country folks would lie : 
This caiol they began that hour, 
How that life was but a flower : 

And therefore take the present time 

With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino ! 
For love is crowned with the prime 
In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing hey ding a ding : 
Sweet lovers love the Spring. 

IV. Shakespeare 



XII 

PRESENT IN ABSENCE 

Absence, hear thou this protestation 
Against thy strength, 
Distance, and length ; 
Do what thou canst for alteration : 

For hearts of truest mettle 
Absence doth join, and Time doth settle. 

Who loves a mistress of such quality, 

His mind hath found 

Affection's ground 
Beyond time, place, and mortality. 

To hearts that cannot vary 
Absence is present, Time doth tarry. 



FIRST 

By absence this good means I gain. 
That I can catch her, 
Where none can match her, 
In some close corner of my brain : 

There I embrace and kiss her ; 
And so I both enjoy and miss her. 

J. Donm 



XIII 

VIA A MORIS 

High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be, 
And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, 
Tempers her words to trampHng horses' feet 
More oft than to a chamber melody, — 

Now, blessed you bear onward blessed me 
To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet ; 
My Muse and I must you of duty greet 
With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully ; 

Be you still fair, honoured by public heed ; 
By no encroachment wrong'd, nor time forgot ; 
Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
And that you know I envy you no lot 

Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, — 
Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss ! 

Sir P. Sidney 



ABSENCE 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
I have no precious time at all to spend 
Nor services to do, till you require : 

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
W'hen you have bid your servant once adieu : 



BOOK 



Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
But hke a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
Save, where you are, how happy you make those ; — 

So true a fool is love, that in your will 
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. 

W. Shakespeare 



XV 

How like a winter hath my absence been 
From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
What old December's bareness everywhere ! 

And yet this time removed was summer's time : 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime 
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : 

Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 

Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 

W. Shakespeare 



r^c^ >^ 



XVI 

A CONSOLATION 

When m disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
I all alone btweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate ; 

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope. 
Featured like him, like him with friend's possest, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least ; 



FIRST n 

Vet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
Haply I think on Thee — and then my state, 
Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

IV. Shakespeare 



XVII 

THE UNCHANGEABLE 

O never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify : 
As easy might I from myself depart 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie ; 
That is my home of love ; if I have ranged, 
Like him that, travels, I return again, 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood. 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; . 
For nothing this wide universe I call, 
Save thou, my rose : in it thou art my all. 

W. Shakespeare 



To me, fair Friend, you never can be old, 

For as you were when first your eye I eyed 

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold 

Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; 

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 

In process of the seasons have I seen, 

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd. 

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 

Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand. 

Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; 



! BOOK 

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 

For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, — 
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 

JV. Shakespeare 

XIX 

ROSALINE 

Like to the clear in highest spheie 
Where all imperial glory shines. 
Of selfsame colour is her hair 
Whether unfolded, or in twines : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow. 
Resembling heaven by every wink ; 
The Gods do fear whenas they glow, 
And I do tremble when I think 

Heigh ho, would she were iTiine ! 

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
That beautifies Aurora's face, 
Or like the silver crimson shroud 
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace ; 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her lips are like two budded roses 
Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, 
Within which bounds she balm encloses 
Apt to entice a deity : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Her neck is like a stately tower 
Where Love himself imprison'd lies, 
To watch for glances every hour 
From her divine and sacred eyes : 

Heigh ho, for Rosaline ! 
Her paps are centres of delight, 
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, 
Where Nature moulds the dew of light 
To feed perfection with the same : 

Heigh ho, would she were nvne ' 



FIRST ' 13 

With orient pearl, witn ruby red, 
With marble white, with sapphire blue 
Her body every way is fed, 
Vet soft in touch and sweet in view : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Nature herself her shape admires ; 
The Gods are wounded in her sight ; 
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires 
And at her eyes his brand doth light : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
Then muse not. Nymphs, though I bemoan 
The absence of fair Rosaline, 
Since for a fair there's fairer none, 
Nor for her virtues so divine : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ; 
tieigh bo, my heart ! would God that she were mine 

7'. Lodge 

XX 

COLIN 

Beauty sat bathing by a spring 

Where fairest shades did hide her ; 
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 

The cool screams ran beside her. 
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 

To see what was forbidden : 
But better memory said, fie ! 

So vain desire was chidden : — 

Hey nonny nonny O ! 
Hey nonny nonny ! 

Into a slumber then I fell. 
When fond imagination 
Seemed to see, but could not tell 

Her feature or her fashion. 
But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, 

And sometimes fall a-weeping. 
So I awaked, as wise this while 
As when I fell a-sleeping : — 

Hey nonny nonny O ! 
Hey nonny nonny ! 

The Shepherd Tonie 



14 BOOK 

XXI 

^ PICTURE 

Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, 
Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry ; 
Out of thy golden quiver 
Take thou thy strongest arrow 
That will through bone and marrow, 
And me and thee of grief and fear deliver : — 
But come behind, for if she look upon thee, 
Alas ! poor Love ! then thou art woe-begone thee i 

Anon, 



A SONG FOR MUSIC 

Weep you no more, sad fountains :- 

What need you flow so fast ? 
Look how the snowy mountains 

Heaven's sun doth gently waste ! 
But my Sun's heavenly eyes 
View not your weeping, 
That now lies sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies, 
Sleeping. 

Sleep is a reconciling, 

A rest that peace begets : — 
^oth not the sun rise smiling, 
When fair at even he sets ? 

— Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes ! 
Melt not in weeping ! 
While She lies sleeping 
Softly, now softly lies, 
Sleeping ! 

Anon. 



FIRST 15 

XXIII 

TO HIS LOVE 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 

And often is his gold complexion dimui'd : 

And every fair from fair sometime declines, 

By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd 

But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest : — 

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 

W. Shakespeare 



XXIV 

TO HIS LOVE 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; 

Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have exprest 
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. 

So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all, you prefiguring ; 
And for theylook'd but with divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough ^our worth to sing : 

For we, which now behold these present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 

W. Shakespeare 



16 BOOK 

XXV 

BASIA 

Turn back, you wanton flyer. 
And answer my desire 

With mutual greeting. 
Yet bend a little nearer, — 
True beauty still shines clearer 

In closer meeting ! 
Hearts with hearts dehghted 
Should strive to be united, 
Each other's arms with arms enchaining,— 

Hearts with a thought, 
Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining. 

What harvest half so sweet is 
As still to reap the kisses 

Grown ripe in sowing ? 
And straight to be receiver 
Of that which thou art giver, 

Rich in bestowing ? 
There is no strict observing 
Of times' or seasons' swerving, 
There is ever one fresh spring abiding ; 
Then what we sow with our lips 
Let us reap, love's gains dividing.- \j' 

'^ CamfAon ^' 



XXVI 

ADVICE TO A GIRL 

Never love unless you can 

Bear with all the faults of man ! 

Men sometimes will jealous be 

Though but little cause they see^ 

And hang the head as discontent, 

And speak wiiat straight they will repent 



FIRST 17 

Men, that but one Saint adore, 
Make a show of love to more ; 
Beauty must be scorn' d in none, 
Though but truly served in one : 
* For what is courtship but disguise ? 
True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 

Men, when their affairs require, 
Must awhile themselves retire ; 
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 
And not ever sit and talk : — 
If these and such-like you can bear, 
Then like, and love, and never fear ! 

T. Cafiipion 



XXVII 

LOVE'S PERJURIES 

On a day, alack the day ! 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 
Playing in the wanton air : 
Through the velvet leaves the wind. 
All unseen, 'gan passage find : 
That the lover, sick to dea*h, 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breatt. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But, alack, my hand is sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me 
That I am forsworn for thee : 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were. 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 

W. Shakespear6 
c 



28 BOOK 



XXVIII 

A SUPPLICATION 

Forget not yet the tried intent 
Of such a truth as I have meant ; 
My great travail so gladly spent, 
Forget not yet ! 

P^orget not yet when first began 
The weary life ye know, since whan 
The suit, the service none tell can ; 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not yet the great assays, 
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, 
The painful patience in delays, 

Forget not yet ! 

Forget not ! O, forget not this, 
How long ago hath been, and is 
The mind that never meant amiss — 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not then thine own approved 
The which so long hath thee so loved, 
Vv'^hose steadfast faith yet never moved — 
Forget not this ! 
* Sir T. Wya 



XXIX 

TO AURORA 

O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harra. 
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest ; 
Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast 
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 

O if thy pride did not our joys controul, 
What world of loving wonders should'st thou see \ 
For if I saw thee once transform'd in me, 
Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul ; 



FIRST 19 

Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine, 
And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan 
Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ; 
No, I would have my share in what were thine : 

And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, 
This happy harmony would make them none. 

W. Alexander, Earl of Sterline 



XXX 

IN LACRIMAS 

I saw my Lady weep, 
And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 

Her face was full of woe. 
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 

Sorrow was there made fair, 
And Passion, wise ; Tears, a delightful thing ; 
Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare : 

She made her sighs to sing, 
And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 

O fairer than aught else 
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve ! 
Enough, enough : your joyful look excels : 

Tears kill the heart, believe. 
O strive not to be excellent in woe, 
Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. 

Anon. 



C 2 



20 BOOK 

XXXI 

TRUE LOVE 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to remove : — 

O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken \ 

It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom : — 

If this be error, and upon me proved, 
[ never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

W. Shakespeare 



XXXII 

A DITTY 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,. 
By just exchange one for another given : 
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. 
There never was a better bargain driven : 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have hisc 

His heart in me keeps him and me in one, 
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
I cherish his because in me it bides : 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
Sir P. Sidney 



FIRST : 

XXXIII 

LOV1.S INSIGHT 

Though others may Her brow adore 

Yet more must I, that therein see far more 

Than any other's eyes have power to see : 

She is to me 
More than to any others she can be ! 
I can discern more secret notes 
That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes, 
Than any else besides have art to read : 

No looks proceed 
From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. 

Anon, 



XXXIV 

LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain, > 

And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, 
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain 
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 

Were I as high as hearen above the plain. 
And you, my Love, as humble and as low- 
As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. 

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies. 

My love should shine on you like to the sun. 

And look upon you with ten thousand eyes 

Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. 

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 
Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 

y. Sylvester 



BOOK 



CARPE DIEM 

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming ? 
O stay and hear ! your true-love's coming 

That can sing both high and low ; 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 
Journeys end in lovers meeting — 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What's to come is still unsure : 
Tn delay there lies no plenty, — 
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth's a stuff will not endure. 

W. Shakespeare 



XXXVI 

*AN HONEST A UTOL YCUS 

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave, and new, 
Good penny-worths, — but money cannot move : 

I keep a fair but for the Fair to view ; 
A beggar may be liberal of love. 

Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true — 
The heart is true. 

Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again ; 
My trifles come as treasures from my mind ; 
it is a precious jewel to be plain ; 

Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find : — 
Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain ! 
Of me a grain ! 
Ation. 



FIRST 23 



XXXVII 

WINTER 

When icicles hang by the wall 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 

And Tom bears logs into the hall, 

And milk comes frozen home in pail ; 

When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, 

Then nightly sings the staring owl 
Tu-whit ! 

To- who ! A merry note ! 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all about the wind doth blow. 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 

A.nd birds sit brooding in the snow, 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; 

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl — 

Then nightly sings the staring owl 
Tu-whit ! 

To-who ! A merry note ! 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

W. Shakespeare 



That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sangi 

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west. 
Which by and by black night doth take away, 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest : 

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by ; 



24 BOOK 

— This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more 

strong, 
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

IV. Shakespeare 



MEMOR Y 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 

I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste ; 

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe, 
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. 

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. 
Which I new pay as if not paid before : 

— But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend, 
All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 

W. Shakespeare 



XL 

SLEEP 

Come, Sleep : O Sleep ! the certain knot of peace, 
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe. 
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low ; 

With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw : 

make in me those civil wars to cease ; 

1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 



FIRST 25 

Take thou of me smooth pillovvs, sweetest bed, 
A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
A rosy garland and a weary head : 
And if these things, as being thine in right. 

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, 
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 

Sh' P. Sidiie} 



XLI 

REVOLUTIONS 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes before, 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 

Nativity, once in the main of light, 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, 

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 

And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. 

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : — ■ 

And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand 
Praising Thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

W. Sh-akespean 



Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 
My bonds m thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 
And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 



26 BOOK 

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
Comes home again, on better judgment making. 

Thus hav^e I had thee as a dream doth flatter -, 
In sleep, a king ; but waking, no such matter. 

IV. Shakespeari 



THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION 

rhey that have power to hurt, and will do none, 
That do not do the thing they most do show, 
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. 
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, — 

They rightly do inherit heaven's graces. 
And husband nature's riches from expense ; 
They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
Others, but stewards of their excellence. 

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet. 
Though to itself it only live and die ; 
But if that flower with base infection meet. 
The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 

W. Shakespeare 



XLIV 

THE LO VER'S APPEAL 

And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! for shame. 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And wilt thou leave me thus^ 
Say nay ! say nay ! 



FIRST 27 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath loved thee so long 
In wealth and woe among : 
And is thy heart so strong 
As for to leave me thus ? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath given thee my heart 
Never for to depart 
Neither for pain nor smart : 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
And have no more pity 
Of him that loveth thee ? 
Alas ! thy cruelty ! 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

Sir T. Wyat 



XLV 

THE NIGHTINGALE 

As it fell upon a day 
In the merry month of May, 
Sitting in a pleasant shade 
Which a grove of myrtles made, 
Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 
Trees did grow and plants did spring 
Every thing did banish moan 
Save the Nightingale alone. 
She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn. 
And there sung the dolefuU'st ditty 
That to hear it was great pity. 
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry : 
Teru, teru, by and by : 
That to hear her so complain 
Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 



28 BOOK 

For her griefs so lively shown 

Made me think upon mine own. 

— Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, 

None takes pity on thy pain : 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, 

Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee 

King Pandion, he is dead. 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : 

All thy fellow birds do sing 

Careless of thy sorrowing : 

Even so, poor bird, like thee 

None alive will pity me. 

R. Barnefield 



X.LVI 

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born. 
Relieve my languish, and restore the light ; 
With dark forgetting of my care return. 

And let the day be time enough to mourn 
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
Without the torment of the night's untruth. 

Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, 
To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
Never let rising Sun approve you liars. 
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : 

Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain. 
And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 

S. Datiiei 



The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, 

While late-bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth. 
Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making ; 



FIRST 29 

And mDurnfuUy bewailing, 
Her throat in tunes expresseth 
What grief her breast oppresseth 
For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 

O Philomela fair, O take some gladness, 
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; . 
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 

Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish 

But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken^ 
Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, 
Full womanlike complains her will was broken. 
But I, who, daily craving, 
Cannot have to content me, 
Have more cause to lament me, 
Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 

O Philomela fair, O take some gladness 
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 

Sir P. Sianey 



XLVIII 

FRUSTRA 

Take, O take those lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn, 
And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 

Bring again — 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

Seal'd in vain ! 

W. Shakespeart 



30 BOOK 



LOVES FAREWELL 

Since there's ro help, come let us kiss and part, — 
Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
And when we meet at any time again, 
Be it not seen in either of our brows 
That we one jot of former love retain. 

Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 
When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, 
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death. 
And innocence is closing up his eyes, 

— Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, 
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 

]/. Draytor 



IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO 

Vollow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 

Though thou be black as night 

And she m.ade all of light, 
fet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 

Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! 

Though here thou liv'st disgraced. 

And she in heaven is placed, 
\'et follow her whose light the world reviveth ! 

Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, 

That so have scorched thee 

iVs thou still black must be 
Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. 



FIRST 

Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! 

There comes a luckless night 

That will dim all her light ; 
— And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 

Follow still, since so thy fates ordained ! 

The sun must have his shade, 

Till both at once do fade, — 
The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. 

T. Campion 



LI 

BLIND LOVE 

O m'f ! what eyes hath Love put in my head 
Which have no correspondence with true sight : 
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled 
That censures falsely what they see aright ? 

If that be fair whereon ray false eyes dote, 
What means the world to say it is not so ? 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's : No, 

How can it ? O how can love's eye be true, 
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? 
No marvel then though I mistake my view : 
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 

O cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind, 
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find ! 

W. Shakespeare 



LII 

Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me ! 

For who a sleeping lion dares provoke ? 
It shall sufifice me here to sit and see 

Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke ; 
What sight can more content a lover's mind 
Thar beauty seeming harmless, if not kind ? 



32 BOOK 

My words have charm'd her, for secure she sleeps, 
Though guilty much of wrong done to my love ; 

And in her slumber, see ! she close-eyed weeps : 
Dreams often more than waking passions move. 

Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee 

That she in peace may wake and pity nie. 

T. Campion 



THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS 

While that the sun with his beams hot 

Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, 

Philon the shepherd, late forgot. 

Sitting beside a crystal fountain. 
In shadow of a green oak tree 
Upon his pipe this song play'd he : 

Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, untrue Love, 

Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 

Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

So long as I was in your sight 
I was your heart, your soul, and treasure ; 
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd 
Burning in flames beyond all measure : 

— Three days endured your love to me. 

And it was lost in other three ! 
Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

Another Shepherd you did see 

To whom your heart was soon enchained ; 

Full soon your love was leapt from me, 

Full soon my place he had obtained. 
Soon came a third, your love to win. 
And we were out and he was in. 

Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, untrue Love, 

Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 

Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 



FIRST 33 

Sure you have made me passing glad 
That you your mind so soon removed, 
Before that I the leisuie had 
To choose you for my best beloved : 

For all your love was past and done 

Two days before it was begun : — 
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; 
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 

Anon, 



LIV 

ADVICE TO A LOVER 

The sea hath many thousand sands, 
The sun hath motes as many ; 
The sky is full of stars, and Love 
As full of woes as any : 
Believe me, that do know the elf, 
And make no trial by thyself ! 

It is in iruth a pretty toy 

For babes to play withal : — 

But O ! the honeys of our youth 

Are oft our age's gall ! 

Self-proof in time will make thee know 

He was a prophet told thee so ; 

A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 
Tells truth without belief ; 
For headstrong Youth will run his race, 
Although his goal be grief : — 
Love's Martyr, when his heat is past, 
Prove's Care's Confessor at the last. 

Anon, 



34 BOOK 



LV 

A RENUNCIATION- 

Thou ait not fair, for al) thy red and white, 
For all those rosy ornaments in thee, — 

Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight^ 
Nor fair, nor sweet — unless thou pity me ! 

I will not soothe thy fancies ; thou shalt proA^e 

That beauty is no beauty without love. 

— Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure 

My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine : 

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 

I'll not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine : 

— Now show it, if thou be a woman right — 

Embrace and kiss and love me in despite ! 

T. Campion 

LVI 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 

Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude ; 

Thy tooth is not so keen 

Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 

Thoii dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 

Though thou the waters warp, 

Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remember'd not. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

W. Shakespeare 



FIRST 35 



LVII 

A S WEE T L ULLAB Y 

Come little babe, come silly soul, 

Thy father's shame, thy mother's grier, 

Born as I doubt to all our dole. 

And to thy self unhappy chief : 

Sing Lullaby and lap it warm, 

Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 

Thou little think'st and less dost know, 
The cause of this thy mother's moan, 
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, 
And I myself am all alone : 

Why dost thou weep ? why dost thou wail \ 
And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 

Come little wretch, ah silly heart, 

Mine only joy, what can I more ? 

If there be any wrong thy smart 

That may the destinies implore : 

'Twas I, I say, against my will, 
I wail the time, but be thou still. 

And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face ! 
Would God Himself He might thee see, 
No doubt thou would'st soon purchase grace, 
I know right well, for thee and me : 

But come to mother, babe, and play. 

For father false is fled away. 

Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance, 
Thy father home again to send. 
If death do strike me with his lance, 
Yet mayst thou me to him commend : 
If any ask thy mother's name, 
Tell how by love she purchased blame. 

Then will his gentle heart soon yield, 
I know him of a noble mind, 
Although a Lion in the field. 

D 2 



36 BOOK 

A Lamb in town thou shalt him find : 
Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, 
His sugar'd words hath me betray'd. 

Then mayst thou joy and be right glad, 
Although in woe I seem to moan, 
Thy father is no rascal lad, 
A noble youth of blood and bone : 

His glancing looks, if he once smile, 
Right honest women may beguile. 

Come, little boy, and rock asleep, 

Sing lullaby and be thou still, 

I that can do nought else but weep ; 

Will sit by thee and wail my fill : 
God bless my babe, and lullaby 
From this thy father's quality ! 
Anon. 



LVIII 

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ! 
How silently, and with how wan a face ! 
What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place 
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ! 

Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case, 
I read it in thy looks ; thy languish'd grace, 
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 

Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me. 
Is constant love deem'd there but want of Wit? 
Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? 
Do they above love to be loved, and yet 

Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? 
Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness ? 

Sir P. Sidney 



FIRST 37 

LIX 

O CRUDELIS AMOR 

When thou must home to shades of underground, 

And there arrived, a new admired guest, 

The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 

White lope, bhthe Helen, and the rest, 

To hear the stories of thy finish'd love 

From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; 

Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, 
Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, 
Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights, 
And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake : 
When thou hast told these honours done to thee, 
Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me ! 

T. Campion 

LX 

SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

Mother's wag, pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy ; 

When thy father first did see 

Such a boy by him and me, 

He was glad, I was woe, 

Fortune changed made him so, 

When he left his pretty b(iy 

Last his sorrow, first his joy. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

Streaming tears that never stint. 

Like pearl drops from a flint, 

Fell by course from his eyes. 

That one another's place supplies ; 

Thus he grieved in every part. 

Tears of blood fell from his heart. 

When he left his pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy. 



38 BOOK 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 
When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 

The wanton smiled, father wept, 

Mother cried, baby leapt ; 

More he crow'd, more we cried, 

Nature could not sorrow hide : 

He must go, he must kiss 

Child and mother, baby bless, 

For he left his pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 

R. G)'ee7ie 



A LAMENT 

My thoughts hold mortal strife ; 

I do detest my life. 

And with lamenting cries 

Peace to my soul to bring 

Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize : 

— But he, grim grinning King, 

Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprize, 

Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, 

Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 

I W, Dru77imond 



LXII 

DIRGE OF LOVE 

Come away, come away. Death, 
And in sad cypres let me be laid ; 

Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 



FIRST 39 

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O prepare it ! 
My part of death, no one so true 

Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet 
On my black coffin let there be strown ; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown • 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there. 

W. Shakespeare 



LXIII 

TO HIS LUTE 

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 
With thy green mother in some shady grove, 
When immelodious winds but made thee move. 
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. 

Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve. 
Which wont in such harmonious strains 1.0 flow, 
Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above. 
What art thou but a harbinger of woe ? 

Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, 
But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear ; 
Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear ; 
For which be silent as in woods before : 

Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 
Like widow'd turtle, still her loss complain. 

W. Drummond 



40 BOOK 



FIDELE 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun 
Nor the furious winter's rages j 

Thou thy worldly task hast done, 

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages 

Golden lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke \ 

Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak i 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-flash 

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone 5 

Fear not slander, censure rash ; 

Thou ha&i finish'd joy and moan- 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust, 

VV. Shakespeart 



LXV 

A SEA DIRGE 

Full fathom five thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes 
Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, — 
Ding, dong, bell. 

W. Shakespeare 



FIRST 41 



LXVI 

A LAND DIRGE 

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, 

Since o'er shady groves they hover 

And with leaves and flowers do cover 

The friendless bodies of unburied men. 

Call unto his funeral dole 

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole 

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm 

And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm 

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men. 

For with his nails he'll dig them up again. 

/. Webster 



LXVII 

POST MORTEM 

If Thou survive my well-contented day 

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, 

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover ; 

Compare them with the bettering of the time, 
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen. 
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme 
Exceeded by the height of happier men. 

O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — 

' Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, 

A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 

To march in ranks of better equipage : 

But since he died, and poets better prove. 
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.' 

W. Shakespeare 



42 BOOK 

LXVIII 

THB TRIUMPH OF DEATH 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world, that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell 

Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 

O if, I say, you look upon this verse 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
But let your love even with my life decay ; 

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
And 'mock you with me after I am gone. 

W. Shakespeare 



LXIX 

YOUNG LOVE 

Tell me where is Fancy bred. 
Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
How begot, how nourished? 
Reply, reply. 

It is engender'd in the eyes ; 
With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies : 
Let us all ring Fancy's knell ; 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
— Ding, dong, bell. 

W. Shakespeare 



FIRST 43 

LXX 

A DILEMMA 

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 

Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours, 
And then behold your lips where sweet love 
harbours, 
My eyes present me with a double doubting : 
For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes 
Whether the roses be your Hps, or your lips the roses. 

Anon. 



LXXI 

ROSALYND'S MADRIGAL 

Love in my bosom, like a bee. 

Doth suck his sweet ; 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 
Now with his feet. 
Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
His bed amidst my tender breast ; 
My kisses are his daily feast. 
And yet he robs me of my rest : 
Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 

And if I sleep, then percheth he 
With pretty flight, 
And makes his pillow of my knee 
The livelong night. 
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; 
He music plays if so I sing ; 
He lends me every lovely thing, 
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting ; 
Whist, wanton, will ye ? 

Else I with roses every day 

Will whip you hence, 



44 



BOOK 

And bind you, when you long to play, 

For your offence ; 
I'll shut my eyes to keep you in ; 
I'll make you fast it for your sin ; 
I'll count your power not worth a pin j 
— Alas ! what hereby shall I win, 

If he gainsay me ? 

What if I beat the wanton boy 

With many a rod ? 
He wiii repay me with annoy, 
Because a god. 
Then sit thou safely on my knee, 
^\nd let thy bower my bosom be ; 
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee, 
O Cupid ! so thou pity me, 

Spare not, but play thee ! 

T. Lodge 



LXXII 

CUPID AND CAMPASPE 

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 

At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : 

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these, the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple on his chin ; 

All these did my CaiTipaspe win : 

And last he set her both his eyes — 

She won, and Cupid Wind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of me ? 

/. Lylye 



FIRST 45 



LXXIII 



Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, 

With night we banish sorrow ; 
Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft 

To give my Love good-morrow ! 
Wings from the wind to please her mind 

Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; 
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing, 

To give ray Love good-morrow ; 
To give my Love good-morrow 
Notes from them both I'll borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, Robin-red- breast, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each hill, let music shrill 

Give my fair Love good-morrow I 
Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow \ 
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
Sing my fair Love good-morrow } 
To give my Love good -morrow 
Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 

T. Heywood 



PK THALAMION 

Calm was the day, and through the trembling all 

Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play— 

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 

Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fail 5 

When I, (whom sullen care, 

Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 

In princes' court, and expectation vain 

Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 

Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain) 

Walk'd forth to ease my pain 



46 BOOK 

Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames ; 

Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, 

Was painted all with variable flowers. 

And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems 

Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 

And crown their paramours 

Against the bridal day, which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

There in a meadow by the river's side 
A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby. 
With goodly greenish locks all loose untied 
As each had been a bride ; 
And each one had a little wicker basket 
Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously. 
In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket. 
And with fine fingers cropt full feateously 
The tender stalks on high. 
Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
They gather'd some ; the violet, pallid blue 
The little daisy that at evening closes. 
The virgin lily and the primrose true. 
With store of vermeil roses. 
To deck their bridegrooms' posies 
Against the bridal day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames : run softly, till I end my song. 

With that I saw two Swans of goodly hue 

Come softly swimming down along the Lee ; 

Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; 

The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 

Did never whiter show. 

Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 

For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; 

Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, 

Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near ; 

So purely white they were 

That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, 

Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare 

To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 

Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair. 



FIRST 47 

And mar their beauties bright 
That shone as Heaven's Hght 
Against their bridal day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, 
Ran all in haste to see that silver brood 
As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still 
Their wondering eyes to fill ; 
Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair 
Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem 
Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 
Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team ; 
For sure they did not seem 
To be begot of any earthly seed, 
But rather Angels, or of Angels' breed ; 
Yet were they Dred of summer's heat, they say, 
In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
The earth did fresh array ; 
So fresh they seem'd as day, 
Ev'n as their bridal day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, 
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, 
All which upon those goodly birds they threw 
And all the waves did strew. 
That like old Feneus' waters they did seem 
When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore 
Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, 
That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store. 
Like a bride's chamber-floor. 

Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound 
Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 
The which presenting all in trim array, 
Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd ; 
Whilst one did sing this lay 
Prepared against that day, 
Against their bridal day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 



48 BOOK 

* Ye gerttle birds ! the world's fair ornament, 

And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 

Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bovver, 

Joy may you have, and gentle heart's content 

Of your love's couplement ; 

And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, 

With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, 

Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 

All love's disUke, and friendship's faulty guile 

For ever to assoil. 

Let endle'^s peace your steadfast hearts accord, 

And blessed plenty wait upon your board i 

And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 

That fruitful issue may to you afford 

Which may your foes confound. 

And make your joys redound 

Upon your bridal day, which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.' 

So ended she ; and all the rest around 
To her redoubled that her undersong, 
Which said their bridal day should not be long : 
And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground 
Their accents did resound. 
'Jo forth those joyous birds did pass along 
Adown the Lee that to them murmur'd low. 
As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue ; 
Yet did by signs his glad affection show. 
Making his stream run slow. 
And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend 
The lesser stars. So they, enranged well. 
Did on those two attend. 
And their best service lend 

Against their wedding day, which was not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

At length they all to merry London came. 
To merry London, my most kindly nurse. 
That to me gave this life's first native source, 
Though from another place I take my name, 



FIRST 49 

An house of ancient fame : 

There when they came whereas those bricky towers 

The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride, 

Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, 

There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, 

Till they decay'd through pride ; 

Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 

Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 

Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, 

Whose want too well now feels my friendless case , 

But ah ! here fits not well 

Old woes, but joys to tell 

Against the bridal day, which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 

Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder, 

Who'se dreadful name late through all Spain did 

thunder, 
And Hercules' two pillars standing near 
Did make to quake and fear : 
Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry ! 
That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame 
Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 
And endless happiness of thine own name ^ 
That promiseth the same ; 
That through thy prowess and victorious arms 
Thy country may be freed from foreign harms. 
And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 
Through all the world, fiU'd with thy wide alarms, 
Which some brave IMuse may sing 
To ages following : 
Upon the bridal day, which is not long : 

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

From those high towers this noble lord issuing 

Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair 

In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair. 

Descended to the river's open viewing 

With a great train ensuing. 

Above the rest were goodly to be seen 

Two gentle knights cf lovely face and feature, 

E 



50 BOOK 

Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, 
Fit for so goodly stature, 

That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 
Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright ; 
They two, forth pacing to the river's side. 
Received those two fair brides, their love's delight ; 
Which, at th' appointed tide. 
Each one did make his bride 
Against their bridal day, which is not long : 
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 

E. Spenser 



LXXV 

THE HAPPY HEART 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 

O sweet content ! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd ? 

O punishment ! 
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd 
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ? 
O sweet Content ! O sweet, O sweet content \ 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 

Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 

O sweet content ! 
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own 
tears ? 

O punishment ! 
Then he that patiently want's burden bears 
No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content ! 
Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 

T. Dekkei 



FIRST 51 



LXXVI 

SIC TRANSn 

Come, cneerful day, part of my life to me ; 

For while thou view'st me with thy fading light 
Part of my life doth still depart with thee, 

And I still onward haste to my last night : 
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly — 
So every day we live a day we die. 

But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest, 
How are my days deprived of life in you 

When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, 
By feigned death life sweetly to renew ! 

Part of my life, in that, you life deny : 

So every day we live, a day we die. 

T. Campion 



LXXVII 

This Life, which seems so fair, 

Is like a bubble blown up in the air 

By sporting children's breath. 

Who chase it everywhere 

And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 

And though it sometimes seem of its own might 

Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, 

And nrm to hover in that em.pty height. 

That only is because it is so light. 

— But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; 

For when 'tis most admired, in a thought, 

Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. 

IV. Drwnmona 



B 2 



52 BOOK 



SOUL AND BODY 

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
[Foil'd by] those rebel powers that thee array. 
Why doth thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 

Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 
Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ? 

Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more :— 

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, 
And death once dead, there's no more dying then. 

W. Shakespeart 



The man of life upright. 
Whose guiltless heart is free 

From all dishonest deeds. 
Or thought of vanity ; 

The man whose silent days 
In harmless joys are spent, 

Whom hopes cannot delude 
Nor sorrow discontent : 

That man needs neither towers 
Nor armour for defence. 

Nor secret vaults to fly 
From thunder's violence ; 



FIRST 

He only can behold 
With unaffrighted eyes 

The horrors of the deep 
And terrors of the skies. 

Thus scorning all the cares 
That fate or fortune brings, 

He makes the heaven his book, 
His wisdom heavenly things ; 

Good thoughts his only friends, 
His wealth a well-spent age. 

The earth his sober inn 
And quiet pilgrimage. 



T. Campion 



LXXX 

THE LESSONS OF NATURE 

Of this fair volurr^ which we World do name 
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, 
Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame. 
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare : 

Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, 

His providence extending everywhere, 

His justice which proud rebels doth not spare. 

In every page, no period of the same. 

But silly we, like foolish children, rest 
Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold. 
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best, 
On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold ; 

Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, 
It is some picture on the margin wrought. 

W. Drummond 



54 BOOK 



Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ? 
Is this the justice which on earth we find ? 
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind ? 
Are these your influences, Powers above ? 

Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, 
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove 5 
And they who thee, poor idol Virtue ! love, 
Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. 

Ah ! if a Providence doth sway this all 
Why should best minds groan under most distress ? 
Or why should pride humility make thrall, 
And injuries the innocent oppress ? 

Heavens ! hinder, stop this fate ; or gran, a time 
When good may have, as well as bad, their prime! 

W. Drummond 



LXXXII 

THE WORLD'S WAY 

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry — 
As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity. 
And purest faith unhappil)' forsworn. 

And gilded honour shamefully misplaced. 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted. 
And 1 ight perfection wrongfully disgraced. 
And strength by limping sway disabled. 

And art made tongue-tied by authority. 
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity. 
And captive Good attending captain 111 ; — 

— Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that, to dio, I leave my Love alone. 

W. Shakespeare 



FIRST 55 



LXXXIII 

A WISH 

Happy were he could finish forth his fate 
In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure 
From all society, from love and hate 
Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure ; 

Then wake again, and yield God ever praise ; 
Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry ; 
In contemplation passing still his days, 
And change of holy thoughts to make him merry : 

Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush 
Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush : 
— Happy were he ! 

R. Devereiix, Earl of Essex 



LXXXlV 

SAINT JOHN BA P TIS T 

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King 
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild. 
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, 
Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. 

His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, 
With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; 
Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing 
Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 

There burst he forth : All ye whose hopes rely 
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, 
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn ! 
— Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry ? 

Only the echoes, which he made relent, 

Rung from their flinty caves, Repent ! Repent ! 

W. Drummond 






LXXXV 

ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S 
NATIVITY 

This is the month, and this the happy morn 

Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King 

Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, 

Our great redemption from above did bring ; 

For so the holy sages once did sing 

That He our deadly forfeit should release, 

And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. 

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, 

And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty 

Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table 

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 

He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. 

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
Afford a present to the Infant God ? 
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strf.in 
To welcome Him to this His new abode, 
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 
Hath took no print of the approaching light. 
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons 
bright ? 



BOOK SECOND 57 

See how from far, upon the eastern road, 

The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet ; 

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode 

And lay it lowly at His blessed feet ; 

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, 

And join thy voice unto the Angel quire 

From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire 



THE HYMN 

It was the winter vsniid 

While the heaven-born Child 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 

Nature in awe to Him 

Had doff'd her gaudy trim. 

With her great Master so to sympathize : 

It was no season then for her 

To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 

Only with speeches fair 

She woos the gentle air 

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ; 

And on her naked shame. 

Pollute with sinful blame. 

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; 

Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 

Should look so near upon her foul deformities 

But He, her fears to cease. 

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; 

She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding 

Down through the turning sphere, 

His ready harbinger, 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ,: 

And waving wide her myrtle wand, 

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land 

No war, or battle's sound 

Was heard the world around : 

The idle spear and shield were high aphung ; 

The hooked chariot stood 



58 BOOK 

Unstain'd with hostile blood ; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 

And kings sat still with awful eye, 

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 

But peaceful was the night 

Wherein the Prince of Light 

His reign of peace upon the earth began : 

The winds, with wonder whist, 

Smoothly the waters kist 

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean — 

W^ho now hath quite forgot to rave. 

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charnicd wave, 

The stars, with deep amaze, 

Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 

Bending one way theii precious inf'dence ; 

And will not take their flight 

For all the morning light, 

Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ; 

But in their glimmering orbs did glow 

Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. 

And though the shady gloom 

Had given day her room, 

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, 

And hid his head for shame. 

As his inferior flame 

The new-enlighten'd world no more should need ; 

He saw a greater Sun appear 

Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear. 

The shepherds on the lawa 

Or ere the point of dawn 

Sate simply chatting in a rustic row | 

Full little thought they than 

That the mighty Pan 

Was kindly come to live with them below ; 

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep 

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep :— 

When such music sweet 
Their hearts and ears did greet 



SECOND 59 

As never was by mortal finger strook — 
Divinely-warbled voice 
Answering the stringed noise, 
As all their souls in blissful rapture took : 
The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly 
close. 

Nature, that heard such sound 

Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 

Now was almost won 

To think her part was done, 

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; 

She knew such harmony alone 

Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 

At last surrounds their sight 

A globe of circular light 

That with long beams the shamefaced night array 'd ; 

The helmed Cherubim 

And sworded Seraphim 

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, 

Harping in loud and solemn quire 

With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir, 

Such music (as 'tis said) 

Before was never made 

But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 

While the Creator great 

His constellations set 

And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; 

And cast the dark foundations deep, 

And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 

Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 

Once bless our human ears, 

If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 

And let your silver chime 

Move in melodious time ; 

And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ; 

And with your ninefold harmony 

Make up fr.ll consort to the angelic symphony. 



6o BOOK 

For if such hoij? scng 

Enwrap oiir fancy long, 

Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; 

And speckled Vanity 

Will sicken soon and die, 

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould ; 

And Hell itself will pass away. 

And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 

Yea, Truth and Justice then 

Will down return to men, 

Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 

Mercy M'ill sit between 

Throned in celestial sheen, 

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; 

And Heaven, as at some festival. 

Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. 

But wisest Fate says No ; 

This must not yet be so ; 

The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy 

That on the bitter cross 

Must redeem our loss ; 

So both Himself and us to glorify : 

Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep 

The wakeful trump of doom must thundei through 

the deep ; 
With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 
The aged Earth aghast 
With terror of that blast 
Shall from the surface to the centre shake, 
When, at the world's last session, 
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His 

throne. 

And then at last our bliss 

Full £,nd perfect is, 

But now begins ; for from this happy day 

The old Dragon under ground, 

In straiter limits bound, 

Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; 



SECOND 6i 

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail. 
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 

The Oracles are dumb ; 

No voice or hideous hum 

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 

Apollo from his shrine 

Can no more divine, 

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : 

No nightly trance or breathed spell 

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic -cell. 

The lonely mountains o'er 
And the resounding shore 
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; 
From haunted spring and dale 
Edged with poplar pale 
The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; 
With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets 
mourn. 

In consecrated earth 

And on the holy hearth 

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; 

In urns, and altars round 

A drear and dying sound 

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; 

And the chill marble seems to sweat, 

While each peculiar Power foregoes liis wonted seat. 

Peor and Baalim 
Forsake their temples dim, 
With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine ; 
And mooned Ashtaroth 
Heaven's queen and mother both. 
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn : 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz 
mourn. 

And sullen Moloch, fled, 

Hath left in shadows dread 

His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 



62 BOOK 

In vain with cymbals' ring 

They call the grisly king, 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 

The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 

Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste 

Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove, or green, 

Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : 

Nor can he be at rest 

Within his sacred chest ; 

Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud : 

In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark 

The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 

He feels from Juda's land 

The dreaded Infant's hand ; 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 

Nor all the gods beside 

Longer dare abide, 

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 

Our Babe, to show His Godhead true, 

Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. 

So, when the sun in bed 
Curtain'd with cloudy red 
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail, 
Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; 
And the yellow-skirted fays 

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon- loved 
maze. 

But see ! the Virgin blest 

Hath laid her Babe to rest ; 

Time is, our tedious song should here have ending : 

Heaven's youngest-teemed star 

Hath fix'd her polish'd car. 

Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending : 

And all about the courtly stable 

Eright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. 



SECOND 63 



SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DA V, 1687 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 

This universal frame began : 
When Nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay 
And could not heave her head, 
The tuneful voice was heard from high. 

Arise, ye more than dead ! 
Then cold and hot and moist and dry 
In order to their stations leap, 

And Music's power obey. 
From harmony, from heavenly harmony 

This universal frame began ; 

From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
The diapason closing full in Man. 

What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 
When Jubal struck the chorded shell 
His listening brethren stood around, 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 
To worship that celestial sound. 
Less than a god they thought there could not dweP 
Within the hollow of that shell 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 

The trumpet's loud clangor 

Excites us to arms. 
With shrill notes of anger 

And mortal alarms. 
The double double double beat 

Of the thundering drum 

Cries ' Hark ! the foes come ; 
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat ! ' 

The soft complaining flute 
In dying notes discovers 



64 BOOK 

The woes of hopeless lovers, 
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. 

Sharp violins proclaim 
Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
Fury, frantic indignation, 
Depth of pains, and height of passion 

For the fair disdainful dame. 

But oh ! what art can teach, 
What human voice can reach 

The sacred organ's praise ? 
Notes inspiring holy love. 
Notes that wing their heavenly ways 

To mend the choirs above. 

Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
And trees unrooted left their place 

Sequacious of the lyre : 
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : 
When to her Organ vocal breath was given 
An Angel heard, and straight appear'd — 

Mistaking Earth for Heaven. 

Grand Chonis 

As from the power of sacred lays 

The spheres began to move. 
And sung the great Creator's praise 

To all the blest above ; 
So when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour, 
The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die, 
And Music shall untune the sky. 

J. Dryden 

LXXXVII 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 

Avenge, O Lord ! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones 
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; 
Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old 
When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones. 



SECOND 6$ 

Forget not : In Thy book record their groans 
Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slairrby the bloody Piemontese, thai roU'd 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 

To Heaven. Their martyr' d blood and ashes sow 

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 

The triple Tyrant : that from these may grow 
A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 

/. Milton 



HO RATI AN ODE UFON CROMWELL'S 
RETURN FROM IRELAND 

The forward youth that would appear, 
Must now forsake his Muses dear, 

Nor in the shadows sing 

His numbers languishing. 

'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
And oil the unused armour's rust, 

Removing from the wall 

The corslet of the hall. 

So restless Cromwell could not cease 

In the inglorious arts of peace, 
But through adventurous war 
Urged his active star : * 

And like the three-fork'd lightning, first 
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 

Did thorough his own Side 

His fiery way divide : 

For 'tis all one to courage high. 
The emulous, or enemy ; 

And with such, to enclose 

Is more than to oppose ; 

F 



66 BOOK 

Then burning through the air he went 
And palaces and temples rent ; 
And Caesar's head at last 
Did through his 'laurels bla^t. 

'Tis madness to resist or blame 
The face of angry heaven's flame ; 
And if we would speak true, 
Much to the Man is due 

Who, from his private gardens, where 
He lived reserved and austere, 
(As if his highest plot 
To plant the bergamot,) 

Could by industrious valour climb 
To ruin the great worl: of time. 

And cast the Kingdoms old 

Into another mould ; 

Though Justice against Fate complain, 
And plead the ancient Rights in vain — 
But those do hold or break 
As men are strong or weak ; 

Nature, that hateth emptiness. 

Allows of penetration less, 

And therefore must make room 
Where greater spirits come. 

What field of all the civil war 
Where his were not the deepest scar ? 

And Hampton shows what part 
« He had of wiser art, 

Where, twining subtle fears with hope. 
He wove a net of such a scope 

That Charles himself might chase 
To Carisbrook's narrow case, 

That thence the Royal actor borne 
The tragic scaffold might adorn : 
While round the armed bands 
Did clap their bloody hands. 



SECOND 67 

He nothing common did or mean 
Upon that memorable scene, 

But with his keener eye 

The axe's edge did try ; 

Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, 
To vindicate his helpless right ; 

But bow'd his comely head 

Down, as upon a bed. 

— This was that memorable hour 
Which first assured the forced power : 

So when they did design 

The Capitol's first line, 

A Bleeding Head, where they begun. 
Did fright the architects to run ; 

And yet in that the State 

Foresaw its happy fate ! 

And now the Irish are ashamed 

To see themselves in one year tamed : 

So much one man can do 

That does both act and know. 

They can affirm his praises best. 
And have, though overcome, confest 

How good he is, how just 

And fit for highest trust. 

Nor yet grown stiffer with command, 
But still in the Republic's hand — 

How fit he is to sway 

That can so well obey ! 

He to the Commons' feet presents 
A Kingdom for his first year's rents. 

And (what he may) forbears 

His fame, to make it theirs : 

And has his sword and spoils ungirt 
To lay them at the Public's skirt. 

So when the falcon high 

Falls heavy from the sky, 
F 2 



66 BOOK 

She, having kill'd, no more doth search 
But on the next green bough to perch, 

Where, when he first does lure, 

The falconer has her sure. 

—What may not then our Isle presume 
While victory his crest does plume ? 
What may not others fear 
If thus he crowns each year ? 

As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 
To Italy an Hannibal, 

And to all States not free 

Shall climacteric be. 

The Pict no shelter now shall find 
Within his parti-colour'd mind. 
But from this valour sad 
Shrink underneath the plaid — 

Happy, if in the tufted brake 
The English hunter him mistake. 

Nor lay his hounds in near 

The Caledonian deer. 

But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son, 
March indefatigably on ; 
. And for the last effect 
Still keep the sword erect : 

Besides the force it has to fright 

The spirits of the shady night, 
The same arts that did gain 
A power, must it maintain. 

A. Marvell 

LXXXIX 

L YCIDAS 

Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel 

1637 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
And with forced fingers rude 



SECOND 69 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
Compels me to disturb your season due : 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring j 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
So may some gentle Muse 
With lucky words favour my destined um ; 
And as he passes, turn 
And bid fair peace be to m.y sable shroud. 

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, 
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill : 
Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd 
Under the opening eyelids of the Mom, 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battenmg our flocks M'ith the fresh dews of night, 
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering 

wheel. 
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, 
Temper'd to the oaten flute. 

Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
From the glad sound would not be absent long ; 
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 

But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone, 
Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee, Shepherd, thee the wockIs and desert caves 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 
And all their echoes, mourn : 
The willows and the hazel copses green 
Shall now no more be seen 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays : — 



70 BOOK 

As killing as the canker to the rose, 

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 

Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear 

When first the white-thorn blows ; 

Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? 
For neither were ye .playing on the steep 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : 
Ay me ! I fondly dream — 
Had ye been there . . . For what could that have 

done? 
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 
Whom universal nature did lament, 
When by the rout that made the hideous roar 
His gory visage down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? * 

Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade 
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? 
Were it not better done, as others use. 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears 
And slits the thin-spun life. ' But not the praise ' 
Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears ; 
' Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor in the glistering foil 

Set ofif to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed * 



SECOND 7i 

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour d flood 
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
But now my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea ; 
He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, 
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swaiii ? 
And question'd every gust of rugged wings 
That blows from off each beaked promontory : 
They kne a^ not of his story ; 
And sage Hippotades their answer brings, 
That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. 
It was that fatal and perfidious bark 
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, 
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe : 
' Ah ! who hath reft,' quoth he, ' my dearest pledge !' 
Last came, and last did go 
The Pilot of the Galilean lake ; 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
iThe golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : 
' How well could I have spared for thee, young swain. 
Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake 
Creep and intrude and climb into the fold ! 
Of other care they little reckoning make 
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 
A.nd shove away the worthy bidden guest. 
Blind mouths ■ that scarce themselves know how to 

hold 
A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least 
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! 
What recks it them ? What need they .? They are 

sped ; 
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 



72 BOOK 

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; 
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 
But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw 
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : 
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said : 
- — But that two-handed engine at the door 
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more. 

Return, Alpheus ; the dread voice is past 
That shrunk thy streams : return, Sicilian Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks 
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks ; 
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes 
That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers 
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. 
The white pink, and the pans^ freak'd with jet, 
The glowing violet. 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears : 
Bid amarantus all his beauty shed. 
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears 
To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. 
For so to interpose a Httle ease. 
Let our frail thoughts daily with false surmise : — 
Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are hurl'd, 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides 
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep' st by the fable of Bellerus old, 
Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold, 
— Look homev/ard. Angel, now, and melt with ruthi 
— And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth i 



SECOND 73 

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor : 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean -bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high 
Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves ,' 
Where, other groves and other streams along, 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
There entertain him all the Saints above 
In solemn troops, and sweet societies. 
That sing, and singing, in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
Henceforth thou art tin Genius of the shore 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood. 

Thus sang che uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, 
While the still morn went out with sandals gray ; 
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
And now the sun had sti-etch'd out all the hills. 
And now was dropt into the western bay : 
At last he rose, and twitcli'd his mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 

/. A/z'Uon 

XC 

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBE \ 

Mortality, behold and fear 
What a change of flesh is here ! 
Think how many royal bones 
Sleep within these heaps of stones ; 
Here they lie, had realms and lands, 
Who now want strength to stir their hands, 



74 BOOK 

Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust 

They preach, ' In greatness is no trust.' 

Here's an acre sown indeed 

With the richest royallest seed 

That the earth did e'er suck in 

Since the first man died for sin : 

Here the bones of birth have cried 

' Though gods they were, as men they died . ' 

Here are sands, ignoble things, 

Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings : 

Here's a world of pomp and state 

Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 

F. Beaiunont 

xci 

THE LAST CONQUEROR 

Victorious men of earth, no more 

Proclaim how wide your empires are ; 
Though you bind -in every shore 
And your triumphs reach as far 

As night or day, 
Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
, Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. 

Devouring Famine, Plague, and War 

Each able to undo mankind. 

Death's servile emissaries are ; 

Nor to these alone confined, 

He hath at will 
More quaint and subtle ways to kill ; 
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 

y. Shirley 

XCII 

DEATH THE LEVELLER 

The glories of our blood and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 

There is no armour against fate ; 

Death lays his icy hand on kings : 



SECOND 75 

Sceptre and Crown 

Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooV.ed scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 

And plant fresh laurels where they kill : 
But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
The) tame but one another still : 
Early or late 
They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow ; 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death's purple altar now 

See where the victor- victim bleeds : 
V^our heads must come 
To the cold tomb ; 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 

J. Shirley 



WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED 
TO THE CITY 

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, 

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, 

If deed of honour did thee ever please, 

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 

He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 
That call fame on such gentle acts as these. 
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, 
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 

Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower : 

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 

The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 



76 BOOK 

Went to the ground : and the repeated air 

Of sad Electra's poet had the power 

To save the Athenian vails from ruin bare. 

/. Milton 



xciv %1\^^*^''^ 



ON HIS BLINDNESS 

When I consider how my light is spent 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, ^ 
And that one talent which is death to hide fj 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 0^ 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present ' ^ 
My true account, lest He returning chide, — I'S 
Doth God exact day-laboiu-, light denied ? f} 
I fondly ask : — But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies ; God doth not need ^ 
Either man's woik, or His own gifts : who best O^ n 
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : His state J^ 

Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed <C_- 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest : — fW 
They also serve who only stand and wait. 

/. Milton 



CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 

How happy is he born and taught 
That serveth not another's will ; 
Whose armour is his honest thought 
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame, or private breath ; 



SECOND 77 

Who envies none that chance doth raise 
Nor vice ; Who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise ; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 

Who hath his life from rumours freed, 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of His grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book or friend , 

— This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 

Sir H. Woiton 



THE NOBLE NATURE 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be ; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was the plant and flower of Light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 

B. Jonson 



78 BOOK 



xcvir 
THE GIFTS OF GOD 

When God at first made Man, 
Having a glass of blessincjs standing by ; 
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can : 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 

Contract into a span. 

So strength first made a way ; 
Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure 
When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure. 

Rest in the bottom lay. 

For if I should (said He) 
Bestow this jewel also on My creature. 
He would adore My gifts instead of Me, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature, 

So both should losers be. 

Yet let him keep the rest. 
But keep them with repining restlessness : 
Let him be rich and weary, that at least. 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 

May toss him to My breast. 
G. Herbert 



XCVIII 

THE RETREAT 

Happy those early days, when I 
Shined in my Angel-infancy ! 
Before I understood this place 
Appointed for my second race. 
Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
But a white, celestial thought ; 
When yet I had not walk'd above 
A mile or two from my first Love, 



SECOND 79 

And looKing back, at that short space 
Could see a glimpse of His bright face ; 
When on some gilded cloud or flower 
My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 
And in those weaker glories spy 
Some shadows of eternity ; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a sinful sound, 
Or had the black art to dispense 
A several sin to every sense, 
But felt through all this fleshly dress 
Bright shoots of everlastingness. 

O how T long to tiavel back, 
And tread again that ancient track ! 
That I might once more reach that plain 
Where first I left my glorious train ; 
From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees 
That shady City of palm trees ! 
But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
Is drunk, and staggers in the way : — 
Some men a forward motion love. 
But I by backward steps would move ; 
And when this dust falls to the urn. 
In that state I came, return. 

H. Vaugha?t 



XCIX 

TO MR. LAWRENCE 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son. 
Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, 
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 

From the hard season gaining ? Time will run 
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire 
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. 



50 300K 

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choicx;, 
Of Attic taste, v/ith wine, whence we may rise 
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice 

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? 

He who of those delights can judge, and spare 

To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 

/. Milton 



TO CYRIACK SKINNER 

Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 
Of British Themis, with no mean applause 
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, 
Which others at their bar so often wrench ; 

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 

In mirth, that after no repenting draws ; 

Let Euchd rest, and Archimede s pause, 

And what the Swede intend, and what the French, 

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; 
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 

And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
That with superfluous burden loads the day, 
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 

/. Milton 

CI 

A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE 

Of Neptune's empire let us sing. 
At whose command the waves obey ; 
To whom the rivers tribute pay, 
Down the high mountains sliding ; 
To whom the scaly nation yields 
Homage for the crystal fields 
Wherein they dwell ; 



SECOND gi 

And every sea-god pays a gem 

Yearly out of his watery cell, 

To deck great Neptune's diadem. 

The Tritons dancing in a ring, 
Before his palace gates do make 
The water with their echoes quake, 
Like the great thunder sounding : 
The sea-nymphs chaunt their accents shrill. 
And the Syrens taught to kill 
With their sweet voice, 
Make every echoing rock reply, 
Unto their gentle murmuring noise, 
The praise of Neptune's empeiy, 

T. Campion 



HYMN TO DIANA 

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, 

Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
Seated in thy silver chair 

State in wonted manner keep : 
Hesperus entreats thy light, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itsejf to interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close : 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart 

And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 
Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever : 
Thou that mak'st a day of night. 
Goddess excellently bright ! 

B. Jonson 

G 



S2 BOOK 



WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS 

Whoe'er she be, 

That not impossible She 

That shall command my heart and me ; 

Where'er she lie, 

Lock'd up from mortal eye 

In shady leaves of destiny : 

Till that ripe birth 

Of studied Fate stand forth, 

And teach her fair steps tread our earth ; 

Till that divine 

Idea take a shrine 

Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 

— Meet you her, my Wishes, 

Bespeak her to my blisses. 

And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 

I wish her beauty 
That owes not all its duty 
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie : 

Something more than 
Taffata or tissue can, 
Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 

A face that's best 

By its own beauty drest, 

And can alone commend the rest : 

A face made up 

Out of no other shop 

Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 

Sidneian showers 

Of sweet discourse, whose powers 

Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. 



SECOND 83 

"Wliate'er delight 

Can make day's forehead bright 

Or give down to the wings of night. 

Soft silken hours, 

Open suns, shady bowers ; 

'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. 

Days, that need borrow 

No part of their good morrow 

From a fore-spent night of sorrow : 

Days, that in spite 

Of darkness, by the light 

Of a clear mind are day all night. 

Life, that dares send 

A challenge to his end, 

And when it comes, say, ' Welcome, friend.* 

I wish her store 

Of worth may leave her poor 

Of wishes ; and I wish no more. 

Now, if Time knows 
That Her, whose radiant brows 
Weave them a garland of my vows ; 

Her that dares be 

What these lines wish to see : 

I seek no further, it is She. 

'Tis She, and here 

Lo ! I unclothe and clear 

My wishes' cloudy character. 

Such worth as this is 
Shall fix my flying wishes. 
And determine them to kisses. 

Let her full glory. 

My fancies, fly before ye ; 

Be ye my fictions :■— but her story. 

J^. Crashaw 

G 2 



^4 BOOK 



CIV 

THE GREAT ADVENTURER 

Over the mountains 
And over the waves, 
Under the fountains 
And under the graves ; 
Under floods that are deepest, 
Which Neptune obey ; 
Over rocks that are steepest 
Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lie ; 

Where there is no space 

For receipt of a fly ; 

Where the midge dares not venture 

Lest herself fast she lay ; 

If love come, he will enter 

And soon find out his way. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might ; 

Or you may deem hnn 

A coward from his flight ; 

But if she whom love doth honour 

Be conceal'd from the day, 

Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him 
By having him confined ; 
And some do suppose him, 
Poor thing, to be blind ; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall Mm, 
Do the best that you may. 
Blind love, if so ye call him, 
Will find out his way. 



SECOND ^5 



You may train the eagle 
To stoop to your fist ; 
Or you may inveigle 
The phoenix of the east ; 
The lioness, ye may move her 
To give o'er her prey ; 
But you'll ne'er stop a lover : 
He will find out his way. 

Anon. 



cv 

TJI£ PICTURE OF LITTLE T.C. IN A 
PROSPECT OF FLOWERS 

See with what simplicity 

This nymph begins her golden days ! 

In the green grass she loves to lie, 

And there with her fair aspect tames 

The wilder flowers, and gives them names ; 

But only with the roses plays, 

And them does tell 
vVhat colours best become them, and what smell. 

Who can foretell for what high cause 
This darling of the Gods was born ? 
Yet this is she whose chaster laws 
Thg wanton Love shall one day fear, 
And, under her command severe, 
Sec his bow broke, and ensigns torn. 
Happy who can 
Appease this virtuous enemy of nian ! 

O then let me in time compound 
And parley with those conquering eyes, 
Ere they have tried their force to wound ; 
Ere with their glancing wheels they drive 
In triumph over hearts that strive, 
And them that yield but more despise : 
Let me be laid, 
Where i may see the glories from some shade. 



S6 BOOK 

Mean time, whilst every verdant thing 
Itself does at thy beauty charm, 
Reform the errors of the Spring ; 
Make that the tulips may have share 
Of sweetness, seeing they are fair, 
And roses of their thorns disarm , 

But most procure 
That violets may a longer age endure. 

But O young beauty of the woods, 
Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers. 
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds ; 
Lest Flora, angrv at thy crime 
To kill her infants in their prime, 
Should quickly make th' example yours ; 
And ere we see — 
Nip in the blossom — all our hopes and thee. 

A, Marvell 



CVI 

CHILD AND MAIDEN 

Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 

As unconcern'd as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 

No happiness or pain ! 
When I the dawn used to admire. 

And praised the coming day, 
I little thought the rising fire 

Would take my rest away. 

Your charms in harmless childhood lay 

Like metals in a mine ; 
Age from no face takes more away 

Than youth conceal'd in thine. 
3ut as your charms insensibly 

To their perfection prest, 
60 love as unperceived did fly, 

And center'd in my breast. 



SECOND- ^7 

My passion with your beauty grew, 

While Cupid at my heart, 
Still as his mother favour'd you, 

Threw a new flaming dart : 
Each gloried in their wanton part ; 

To make a lover, he 
Employ'd the utmost of his art— 

To make a beauty, she. 

Sir C. Sedley 



CONSTANCY 

I cannot change, as others do, 

Though you unjustly scorn, 
Since that poor swain that sighs for you. 

For you alone was born ; 
No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move 

A surer way I'll try, — 
And to revenge my slighted love, 

Will still love on, and die. 

When, kill'd with grief, Amintas lies. 

And you to mind shall call 
The sighs that now unpitied rise. 

The tears that vainly fall, 
That welcome hour that ends his smart 

Will then begin your pain, 
For such a faithful tender heart 

Can never break in vain. 

/. VVilmot, Earl of Rochester 



CVIII 

COUNSEL TO GIRLS 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 

Old Time is still a-flying : 
And this same flower that smiles to-day, 

To-morrow will be dying. 



8S BOOK 

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 

The higher he's a-getting 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he's to setting. 

That age is best v/hich is the first, 
When youth and blood are warmer ; 

But being spent, the worse, and worst 
Times, still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time ; 

And while ye may, go marry : 
For having lost but once your prime, 

You may for ever tarry. 

A\ Herrick 



TO LUC AST A, ON GOING TO THE WARS 

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind. 

To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mistress now I chase, 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 

As you too shall adore ; 
I could not love thee. Dear, so much, 

Loved I not Honour more. 

Colojiei Lovelace 



ex 

ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

That poorly satisfy our eyes 
More by your number than your light, 



SECOND 89 

You common people of the skies, 
What are you, when the Moon shall rise ? 

You curious chanters of the wood 

That warble forth dame Nature's lays, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents ; what's your praise 

When Philomel her voice doth raise?' 

You violets ihat first appear, 

By your pure purple mantles known 

Like the proud virgins of the year. 
As if the spring were all your own, — 

What are you, when the Rose is blown ? 

So when my Mistress shall be seen 

In form and beauty of her mind. 
By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 

Tell me, if she were not design'd 
Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

Sir H, IVotton 



CXI 

TO THE LADY MA R GA RE T LEY 

Daughter to that good Earl, once President 
Of England's Council and her Treasury, 
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, 
And left them both, more in himself content. 

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 

Broke him, as that dishonest victory 

At Chaeroneia, fatal to liberty, 

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent ; — 

Though later born than to have known the days 
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you, 
Madam, methinks I see him living yet ; 

So well your words his noble virtues praise. 
That all both judge you to relate them true, 
And to possess them, honour'd Margaret. 

/. Milton 



90 BOOK 



CXI I 

THE TR UE BE A UT V 

He that loves a rosy cheek 
Or a coral lip admires, 
•Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fires : — 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

T. Carew 

CXIII 

TO DIANE ME 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 
Which starlike sparkle in their skies ; 
Nor be you proud, that you can see 
All hearts your captives ; yours yet free : 
Be you not proud of that rich hair 
Which wantons with the lovesick air ; 
Whenas that ruby which you wear, 
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
Will last to be a precious stone 
When all your world of beauty's gone. 
R. Herrick 



Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise % 
Old Time will make thee colder, 

And though each morning new arise 
Yet we each day grow older. 



SECOND 91 

Thou as Heaven art fair ana young, 

Thine eyes Hke twin stars shining ; ^ 

But ere another day be sprung 

All these will be declining. 
Then winter comes with all his fears, 

And all thy sweets shall borrow ; 
Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,— ^ 

And I too late shall sorrow ! 
Anon. 



Go, lovtly Rose ! 
Tell her, that wastes her .me and me, 

That now she knows, 
^Vhen I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that's young 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts, where no men abide, 
Thou iiiust have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired : 

Bid her come forth. 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die ! that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee : 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair \ 

E. Wallef 



92 BOOK 



TO CELIA 



Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honouring thee 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not wither'd be ; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself but thee ! 

B. Jonson 



CXVII 

CHERRY-RIPE 

There is a garden in her face 

Where roses and white lilies blow ; 

A heavenly paradise is that place, 
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; 

There cherries grow that none may buy, 

Till Cherry- Ripe themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl, a douljle row, 
Which when her lovely laughter shows, 

They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow 
Yet them no peer nor prmce may buy, 
Till Cherry- Ripe themselves do cry. 



SECOND 93 

Her eyes like angels watch them still ; 

Her brows Hke bended bows do stand, 
Threat'ning with piercing frowns lO kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
Till Cherry- Ripe themselves do cry ! 

Anon. 



JORINNA'S MA YING 

Get up, get up for shame ! The blooming morn 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
See how Aurora throws her fair 
Fresh-quilted colours through the air : 
Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see 
The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, 
Above an hour since ; yet you not drest. 
Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? 
When all the birds have matins said, 
And sung their thankful hymns : 'tis sin, 
Nay, profanation, to keep in, — 
Whenas a thoiisand virgins on this day. 
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch-in May. 

Rise ; and put on your foliage, and be seen 

To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and gieen 

And sweec as Flora. Take no care 

For jewels for your gown, or hair : 

Fear not ; the leaves will strew 

Gems in abundance upon you : 
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept. 
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept : 

Come, and receive them while the light 

Hangs on the dew-locks of the night : 

And Titan on the eastern hill 

Retires himself, or else stands stil! 
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in 

praying : 
Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 



94 BOOK 

Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark 
How each field turns a street ; each street a park 

Made green, and trimm'd with trees : see how 

Devotion gives each house a bough 

Or branch : Each porch, each door, ere this. 

An ark, a tabernacle is, 
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ; 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 

Can such delights be in the street, 

And open fields, and we not see't ? 

Come we'U abroad : and let's obey 

The proclamation made for May : 
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ; 
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying. 

There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, 
But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 

A deal of youth, ere this, is come 

Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 

Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream, 

Before that we have left to dream : 
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth : 

Many a green-gown has been given ; 

Many a kiss, both odd and even : 

Many a glance too has been sent 

From out the eye. Love's firmament : 
Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
This night, and locks pick'd : — Yet we're not a 

Maying. 

— Come, let us go, while we are in our prime ; 
And take the harmless folly of the time ! 

We shall grow old apace, and die 

Before we know our liberty. 

Our life is short ; and our days run 

As fast away as does the sun : — ■ 
And as a vapour, or a drop of rain 
Once lost, can ne'er be found again : 

So when or you or I are made 

A fable, song, or fleeting shade ; 



SECOND 9^ 

All love, all liking, all delight 
Lies drown'd with us in endless night. 
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
Come, my Corinna ! come, let's go a Maying. 

R. Herrick 



CXIX 
7 HE POETRY OF DRESS 



A sweet disorder in the dress 
Kindles in clothes a wantonness : — 
A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
Into a fine distraction, — 
An erring lace, which here and there 
Enthrals the crimson stomacher, — 
A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
Ribbands to flow confusedly, — 
A winning wave, deserving note, 
In the tempestuous petticoat, — 
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
I see a wild civility, — 
Do more bewitch me, than when art 
Is too precise in every part. 

R. Herrick 



cxx 

2 

Whenas in silks my Julia goes 

Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows 

That liquefaction of her clothes. 

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
That brave vibration each way free ; 
O how that glittering taketh me ! 

R. Herrick 



96 BOOK 



CXXI 



My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, 

It doth so well become her : 
For every season she hath dressings fit, 

For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
No beauty she doth miss 
When all her robes are on : 
But Beauty's self she is 
When all her robes are gone. 

A7ion, 

CXXII 

ON- A GIRDLE 

That which her slender waist confined 
Shall now my joyful temples bind : 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done. 

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer 
^ly joy> "">y giief> my hope, my love 
Did all within this circle move. 

A narrow compass ! and yet there 
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair • 
Give me but what this ribband bound. 
Take all the rest the Sun goes round. 

E. Wallet 

CXXIII 

A MYSTICAL ECSTASY 

E'en like two httle bank-dividing brooks, 

That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, 

And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, 
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
Where in a greater current they conjoin : 

So I my Best- Beloved's am ; so He is mine. 



SECOND 97 

E'en so we met ; and after long pursuit, 

E'en so we join'd ; we both became entire ; 

No need for either to renew a suit, 

For I was flax and he was flames of fire : 
Our firm-united souls did more than twine ; 

So I my Best-Beloved's am ; so He is mine. 

If all those glittering Monarchs that command 
The servile quarters of this earthly ball, 

Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 
I would not change my fortunes for them all : 
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin : 

The world's but theirs ; but my Beloved's mine. 

F. Quarks 



cxxiv 

TO ANTHEA WHO MA V COMMAND HIM 

ANY THING 

Bid me to live, and I will live 

Thy Protestant to be : 
Or bid me love, and I will give 

A loving heart to thee. 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 

A heart as sound and free 
As in the whole world thou canst find, 

That heart I'll give to thee. 

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay. 

To honour thy decree : 
Or bid it languish quite away. 

And 't shall do so for thee. 

Bid me to weep, and I will weep 

While I have eyes to see : 
And having none, yet I will keep 

A heart to weep for thee. 

Bid me despair, and I'll despair, 

Under that cypress tree : 
Or bid me die, and I will dare 

E'en Death, to die for thee. 
H 



98 BOOK 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 

The very eyes of me, 
And hast command of every part, 

To live and die for thee. 

A'. Herrick 



Love not me for comely grace, 
For my pleasing eye or face. 
Nor for any outward part, 
No, nor for my constant heart, — 
For those may fail, or turn to ill, 
So thou and I shall sever : 
Keep therefore a true woman's eye. 
And love me still, but know not why- 
So hast thou the same reason still 
To doat upon me ever ! 
Anon. 



Not, Celia, that I juster am 

Or better than the rest ; 
For I would change each hour, like them 

Were not my heart at rest. 

But I am tied to very thee 

By every thought I have ; 
Thy face 1 only care to see, 

Thy heart I only crave. 

All that in woman is adored 

In thy dear self T find — 
For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome and the kind. 

Why then should I seek further store. 

And still make love anew ? 
When change itself can give no more, 

'Tis easy to be true. 

Sir C. Sedley 



SECOND <^ 

CXXVII 

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 

When Love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at the grates ; 
"When I He tangled in her hair 

And fetter'd to her eye, 
The Gods that wanton in the air 

Know no such Uberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free*** 
Fishes that tipple in the deep 

Know no such liberty. 

When, (like committed linnets), I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty 

And glories of my King ; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be. 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage ; 
If I have freedom in my love 

And in my soul am free. 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such libeity. 

Colonel Lovelace, 

H 2 



loo BOOK 



CXXVIIl 



TO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE 
SEAS 

If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee ; 
Or that when I am gone 
You or I were alone ; 
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. 

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale 
To swell my sail. 
Or pay a tear to 'suage 
The foaming blue-god's rage ; 
For whether he will let me pass 
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was. 

Though seas and land betwixt us both, 
Our faith and troth, 
Like separated souls, 
All time and space controls : 
Above the highest sphere we meet 
Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. 

So then we do anticipate 
Our after-fate, 
And are alive i' the skies, 
If thus our lips and eyes 
Can speak like spirits unconfined 
In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. 

Colonel Lovelace 

CXXIX 

ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Prythee, why so pale ? 
Will, if looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prythee, why so pale ? 



SECOND loi 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? 

Piythee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her. 

Saying nothing do't ? 

Prythee, why so mute ? 

Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move, 
This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love, 
Nothing can make her : 
The D— 1 take her ! 

Sir J. Suckling 



cxxx • 

A SUPPLICATION 

Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
\nd-tell thy silent master's humble tale 

In sounds that may prevail ; 
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : 

Though so exalted she 

And I so lowly be 
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony 

Hark, how the strings awake ! 
And, though the moving hand approach not near. 

Themselves with awful fear 
A kind of numerous trembling make. 

Now all thy forces try ; 

Now all thy charms apply ; 
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 

Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 
Is useless here, since thou art only found 

To cure, but not to wound, 
And she to wound, but not to cure. 

Too weak too wilt thou prove 

My passion to remove ; 
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to Love, 



302 BOOK 

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! 
jFor thou canst never tell my humble tale 
In sounds that will prevail, 
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ; 
All thy vain mirth lay by, 
Bid thy strings silent lie. 
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. 

^. Cowley 



cxxxi 

THE MANLY HEART 

Shall I, wasting in despair, 
Die because a woman's fair ? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care 
'Cause another's rosy are ? 
Be she fairer than the day 
Or tne flowery meads in May — 
If she think not well of me 
What care I how fair she be ? 

Shall my silly heart be pined 
'Cause I see a woman kind ; 
Or a well disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be she meeker, kinder than 
Turtle-dove or pelican, 

If she be not so to me 

What care I how kind she be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or her well-deservings known 
Make me quite forget mine own ? 
Be she with that goodness blest 
Which may merit name of Best ; 
If she be not such to me. 
What care I how good she be ? 



SECOND 103 

'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
Shall I play the fool and die ? 
She that bears a noble mind 
If not outward helps she find, 
Thinks what with them he would do 
Who without them dares her woo ; 
And unless that mind I see, 
What care I how great she be ? 

Great or good, or kind or fair, 

I will ne'er the more despair ; 

If she love me, this believe, 

I will die ere she shall grieve ; 

If she slight me when I woo, 

I can scorn and let her go ; 
For if she be not for me. 
What care I for whom she be ? 
G. V/ither 

CXXXII 

MELANCHOL Y 

Hence, all you vain delights, 

As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly : 

There's nought in this life sweet 

If man were wise to see't. 

But only melancholy, 

O sweetest Melancholy ! 
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
A look that's fasten'd to the ground, 
A tongue chain'd up without a sound ! 
Fountain-heads and pathless groves, 
Places which pale passion loves ! 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed save bats and owls I 
A midnight bell, a parting groan ! 
These are the sounds we feed upon ; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; 
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 

/. Fleuhat 



I04 BOOK 

CXXXIII 

FORSAKEN 

O wajcy waly up the bank, 

And waly waly down the brae, 
And waly waly yon burn-side 

Where I and my Love wont to gae S 
„ leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trusty tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 

Sae my true Love did lichtly me. 

O waly waly, but love be bonny 

A little time while it is new ; 
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 

And fades awa' like morning dew. 
O wherefore should I busk my head ? 

Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 
For my true Love has me forsook, 

And says he'll never loe me mair. 

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed ; 

The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me : 
Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 

Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
Marti'mas wjnd, when wilt thou blaw 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? 

For of my life I am wearie. 

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell. 

Nor blawing snaw's inclernencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
When we came in by Glasgow town 

We were a comely sight to see ; 
My Love was clad in the black velvet, 

And I mysell in cramasie. 



SECOND 105 

But had I wist, before I kist, 

That love had been sae ill to win ; 
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 

And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 
And, O ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurse's knee. 
And I mysell were dead and gane. 

And the green grass growing over me ! 

Anoti, 



CXXXIV 

Upon my lap my sovereign sits 
And sucks upon my breast ; 
Meantime his love maintains my life 
And gives my sense her rest. 
Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

When thou hast taken thy repast. 

Repose, my babe, on me ; 

So may thy mother and thy nurse 

Thy cradle also be. 

Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

I grieve that duty doth not work 
All that my wishing would. 
Because I would not be to thee 
But in the best I should. 

Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

Yet as I am, and as I may, 

I must and will be thine. 

Though all too little for thy self 

Vouchsafing to be mine. 

Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 

Anon. 



io6 BOOK 



FAIR HELEN 

I wish I were where Helen lies ; 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
O that I were where Helen lies 
On fair Kirconnell lea ! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought. 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
And died to succour me ! 

think na but my heart was sair 

When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair .' 

1 laid her down wi' meikle care 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

As I went down the water-side, 

None but my foe to be my guide, 

None but my foe to be my guide, 

On fair Kirconnell lea; 

I lighted down my sword to draw, 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 
I hacked him in pieces sma'. 

For her sake that died for me. 

O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
I'll make a garland of thy hair 
Shall bind my heart for evermair 
Until the day I die. 

O that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
Out of my bed she bids uie rise, 

Says, ' Haste and come to me ! ' 

O Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 
If I were with thee, I were blest, 
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 
On fair Kirconnell lea. 



SECOND 107 



I wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 
On fair Kirconnell lea. 

I wish I were where Helen lies -, 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies, 
Since my Love died for me. 

Alton. 



THE TWA CORBIES 

As I was walking all alane 

I heard twa corbies making a mane ; 

The tane unto the t'other say, 

' Where sail we gang and dine today ? ' 

' — In behint yon auld fail dyke, 
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; 
And naebody kens that he lies there, 
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. 

* His hound is to the hunting gane. 
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
His lady's ta'en another mate. 

So we may mak our dinner sweet. 

* Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, 
And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een : 
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 

We'll theek our nest when it grows bare, 

* Mony a one for him makes mane. 
But nane sail ken where he is gane ; 
O'er his white banes, when they are bare, 
The wind sail blaw for evermair.' 

Anon. 



io8 BOOK 



ON THE DEA TH OF MR, WILLIAM 
HERVEY 

It was a dismal and a fearfid night, — 

Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling light, 

When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast 

By something liker death possest. 
My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, 

And on my soul hung the dull weight 

Of some intolerable fate. 
What bell was that ? Ah me ! Too much I know ! 

My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, 
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, 
Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan ? 

O thou hast left me all alone I 
Thy soul and body, when death's agony 
Besieged around thy noble heart, 
Did not with more reluctance part 
Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. 

Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, 

Have ye not seen us, walking every day ? 

Was there a tree about which did not know 
The love betwixt us two ? 

Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade. 
Or your sad branches thicker join. 
And into darksome shades combine, 

Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. 

Large was his soul ; as large a soul as e'er 

Submitted to inform a body here ; 

High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have, 

But low and humble as his grave ; 
So high that all the virtues there did come 

As to the chiefest seat 

Conspicuous, and great ; 
So low that for me too it made a room. 



SECOND 109 

Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, 
As if for him knowledge had rather sought ; 
Nor did more learning ever crowded lie 

In such a short monaHty. 
Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ, 

Still did the notions throng 

About his eloquent tongue ; 
Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. 

His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, 

Yet never did his God or friends forget. 

And when deep talk and wisdom came in view. 

Retired, and gave to them their due. 
For the rich help of books he always took. 

Though his own searching mind before 

Was so with notions written o'er. 
As if wise Nature had made that her book. 

With as much zeal, devotion, piety, 
He always lived, as other saints do die. 
Still with his soul severe account he kept, 

Weeping all debts out ere he slept. 
Then down in peace and innocence he lay, 

Like the sun's laborious light, 

Which still in water sets at night, 
Unsullied with his journey of the day. 

A. Cowley 



CXXXVIII 

FRIENDS IN PARADISE 

They are all gone into the world of light ! 

And I alone sit lingering here ; 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 

And my sad thoughts doth clear : — 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, 
Like stars upon some gloomy grove. 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest. 
After the sun's remove. 



no BOOK 

I see them walking in an air of glory, 

Whose light doth trample on my days : 

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 

Mere glimmering and decays 

O holy Hope ! and high Humility, 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have shew'd them 
me, 

To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death 1 the jewel of the just. 

Shining no where, but in the dark j 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 
Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may 
know 
At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair well or grove he sings in now, 
* That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams 
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ; 
So some strange thoughts transcend our woTited 
themes, 

And into glory peep. 

I/. Vatighan 



cxxxix 
TO BLOSSOMS 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past. 

But you may stay yet here awhile 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 



SECOND m 

What, were ye born to be 

An hour or half s delight, 

And so to bid good-night ? 
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 

Merely to show your worth. 
And lose you quite. 

^ut you are lo>'ely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave : 
And after they have shown their pride 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 

R. Herrick 



CXL 

TO DAFFODILS 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon : 
As yet the early-rising Sun 

Has not attain'd his noon. 
Stay, stay, 

Until the hasting day 
Has run 

But to the even-song ; 
And, having pray'd together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay, as you. 

We have as short a Spring ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 
As you, or any thing. 

We die, 
As your hours do, and dry 

Away 
Like to the Summer's rain ; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew 
Ne'er to be found again. 

R: Hen-ick 



112 BOOK 



THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FA WN 



With sweetest milk and sugar first 

I it at my own fingers nursed ; 

And as it grew, so every day 

It wax'd more white and sweet than they- 

It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 

I blush'd to see its foot more soft 

And white, — shall I say, — than my hand? 

Nay, any lady's of the land ! 



It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
'Twas on those little silver feet : 
With what a pretty skipping grace 
It oft would challenge me the race : — 
And when 't had left me far away 
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay : 
For it was nimbler much than hinds, 
And trod as if on the four winds. 



I have a garden of my own, 

But so with roses overgrown 

And lilies, that you would it guess 

To be a little wilderness : 

And all the spring-time of the year 

It only loved to be there. 

Among the beds of lilies I 

Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 

Yet could not, till itself would rise. 

Find it, although before mine eyes : — 

For in the flaxen lilies' shade 

It like a bank of lilies laia. 



SECOND 117, 



Upon the roses it would feed, 
Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed ; 
And then to me 'twould boldly trip, 
And print those roses on my lip. 
But all its chief delight was still 
On roses thus itself to fill, 
And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
In whitest sheets of lilies cold : — 
Had it lived long, it would have been 
Lilies without — roses witkm. 

A. Marvell 



CXLII 

THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN 

How vainly men themselves amaze 
To win the palni, the oak, or bays, 
And their uncessant labours see 
Crown'd from some single herb or tree, 
Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 
While all the flowers and trees do close 
To weave the garlands of Repose. 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. 
And Innocence thy sister dear ! 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men : 
Your sacred plants, if here below, 
Only among the plants will grow : 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red was ever seen 
So amorous as this lovely green. 
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 
Cut in these trees their mistress' name : 
Little, alas, they know or heed 
How far these beauties hers exceed ! 
Fair trees ! wheres'e'er your barks I wound, 
No name shall but your own be found. 
I 



114 , BOOK 

When we have run our passions' heat 
Love hither makes his best retreat : 
The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
Still in a tree did end their race ; 
Apollo hunted Daphne so 
Only that she might laurel grow ; 
And Pan did after Syrinx speed 
Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 

What wondrous life is this I lead ! 
Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
The luscious clusters of the vine 
Upon my mouth do crush their wine 
The nectarine and curious peach 
Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less 

Withdraws into its happiness ; 

The mind, that ocean where each kind 

Does straight its own resemblance find ? 

Yet it creates, transcending these. 

Far other worlds, and other seas ; 

Annihilating all that's made 

To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot 
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 
Casting the body's vest aside 
My soul into the boughs does glide ; 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings, 
Then whets and claps its silver wings, 
And, till prepared f. >r longer flight, 
Waves in its plumes the various light. 

Such was that happy Garden-state 
While man there walk'd without a mate 
After a place so pure and sweet, 
What other help could yet be meet ! 
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 
To wander soli ary there : 



SECOND 115 

Two paradises 'twere in one, 
To live in Paradise alone. 

How well the skilful gardener drew 
Of flowers and herbs this dial new ! 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run : 
And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we. 
How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
Be reckon 'd, but with herbs and flowers ! 

A. Marvell 

CXLIII 

FOR TUNA TI NIMIUM 

Jack and Joan, they think no ill. 

But loving live, and merry still ; 

Do their week-day's work, and pray 

Devoutly on the holy-day : 

Skip and trip it on the green. 

And help to choose the Summer Queen ; 

Lash out at a country feast 

Their silver penny with the best. 

Well can they judge of nappy ale. 

And tell at large a winter tale ; 

Climb up to the apple loft. 

And turn the crabs till they be soft. 

Tib is all the father's joy. 

And little Tom the mother's boy : — 

All their pleasure is, Content, 

And care, to pay their yearly rent. 

Joan can call by name her cows 
And deck her windows with green boughs ; 
She can wreaths and tutties make, 
And trim with plums a bridal cake. 
Jack knows what brings gain or loss, 
And his long flail can stoutly toss : 
Makes the hedge which others break, 
And ever thinks what he doth speak. 
I 2 



Ii6 BOOK 

— Now, you courtly dames and knights, 
That study only strange delights, 
Though you scorn the homespun gray, 
And revel in your rich array ; 
Though your tongues dissemble deep 
And can your heads from danger keep ; 
Yet, for all your pomp and train, 
Securer lives the silly swain ! 

T. Campion 

CXLIV ^^"^^ 

VALLEGRO 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
unholy ! 
Find out some uncouth cell 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his 'ealous wings 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 

But come, thou Goddess fair and free. 
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Venus at a birth 
With two sister Graces more 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ; 
Or whether (as some sager sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing. 
As he met her once a- Maying — 
There on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew 
Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair. 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 



SECOND 117 

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 
Test, and youthful jollity. 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides ;— 
Come, and trip it as you go 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ; 
And if I give thee honour due 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 
To live wiih her, and live with thee 
In unreproved pleasures free ; 
To hear the lark begin hi? Eight 
And singing startle the dull night 
From his watch-tower in the skies, 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow, 
And at my window bid good-morrow 
Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine : 
While the cock with lively din 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 
And to the stack, or the barn-door, 
Stoutly struts his dames before : 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheer ly rouse the slumbering morn. 
From the side of some hoar hill, 
Through the high wood echoing shrill % 
Sometime walking, not unseen. 
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
Right against the eastern gate 
Where the great Sun begins his state 
Robed in flames and amber light, 
The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
While the ploughman, near at hand, 
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land. 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 
And the mower whets his scythe, 



)i8 BOOK 

And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasureSs 
Whilst the landscape round it measures ; 
Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 
Mountains, on whose barren breast 
The labouring clouds do often rest ; 
Meadows trim with daisies pied, 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosom'd high in tufted trees. 
Where perhaps some Beauty lies, 
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks. 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, 
Are at their savoury dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead. 
To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 

Sometimes with secure delight 
The upland hamlets will invite. 
When the meriy bells ring round, 
And the jocund rebecks sound 
To many a youth and many a maid, 
Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; 
And young and old come forth to play 
On a sun-shine holyday, 
Till the live-long day-light fail : 
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 
With stories told of many a feat, 
How Faery Mab the junkets eat : — 
She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she said ? 
And he, by Friar's lantern led ; 
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn 



SECOND 119 

That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; 
And crcp-fuU out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. 

Tower'd cities please us then 
And the busy hum of men, 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 
With s'.ore of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace, whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 
With mask, and antique pageantry ; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream • 
On summer eves by haunted stream. 
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson's learned sock be on, 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood -notes wild. 

And ever against eating cares 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs 
Married to immortal verse. 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
In notes, with many a winding bout 
Of linked sv/eetness long drawn out. 
With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 
The melting voice through mazes running. 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony ; 
That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
From golden slumber, on a bed 
Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
His half-regain'd Eurydice. 



I20 BOOK 

These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 

/. Millon 



CXLV 

IL PENSEROSO 

Hence, vain deluding Joys, 

The brood of Folly without father bred 1 
How little you bestead 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 
Dwell in some idle brain, 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess 
As thick and numberless 

As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, 
Or likest hovering dreams, 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 

But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, 
Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight, 
And therefore to our weaker view 
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, 
Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended , 
Yet thou art higher far descended : 
Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, 
To solitary Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain : 
Ofi: in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
While yet there saw no fear of Jove. 



SECOND 12 

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train. 
And sable stole of Cipres lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn : 
Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
With even step, and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 
There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast : 
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing : 
And add to these retired Leisure 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure : — 
But first and chiefest, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
The cherub Contemplation ; 
And the mute Silence hist along, 
'Less Philomel will deign a song 
In her sweetest saddest plight 
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
Gently o'er the accustom'd oak. 
— Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 
Most musical, most melancholy ! 
Thee, chauncress, oft, the woods among 
I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
And missing thee, I walk unseen 
On the dry smooth -shaven green, 
To behold the wandering Moon 
Riding near her highest noon. 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 
And oft, as if her head she bow'd, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 



122 BOOK 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground 
I hear the far-off Curfeu sound 
Over some wide-water'd shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roar : 
Or, if the air will not permit, 
Some still removed place will fit. 
Where glowing embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; 
Far from all resort of mirth, 
Save the cricket on the hearth, 
Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
To bless the doors from nightly harm 

Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear 
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook : 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground, 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet, or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In scepter'd pall come sweeping by. 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelcps' line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine ; 
Or what (though rar-e) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. 

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musaeus from his bower, 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek 
And made Hell grant what Love did seek \ 
Or call up him that left half-told 
The story of Cambuscan bold, 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife 
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass ; 
And of the wondrous horse of brass 



SECOND 123 

On which the Tartar king did ride : 
And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung 
Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and enchantments drear, 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career 
Till civil-suited Morn appear, 
Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont 
With the Attic Boy to hunt, 
But kercheft in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud, 
Or usher'd with a shower still, 
When the gust hath blown his fill, 
Ending on the rustling leaves 
With minute drops from off the eaves. 
And when the sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 
To arched walks of twilight groves, 
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 
Of pine, or monumental oak, 
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, 
W^as never heard the nymphs to daunt 
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt= 
There in close covert by some brook 
Where no profaner eye may look, 
Hide me from day's garish eye, 
While the bee with honey'd thigh 
That at her flowery work doth sing. 
And the waters murmuring. 
With such consort as they keep 
Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep ; 
And let some strange mysterious dream 
Wave at his wings in airy stream 
Of lively portraiture display'd. 
Softly on my eyelids laid : 
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
Above, about, or underneath. 
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 
Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloister's pale, 



[24 BOOK 

And love the high-embowed roof, 

With antique pillars massy proof, 

And storied windows richly dight 

Casting a dim religious light. 

There let the pealing organ blow 

To the full-voiced quire below 

In service high and anthems clear, 

As may with sweetness, through mine ear. 

Dissolve me into ecstasies, 

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
The hairy gown and mossy cell 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heaven doth shew, 
And every herb that sips the dew ; 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 
A-nd I with thee will choose to live. 

/. Milton 



SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 
In the ocean's bosom unespied. 
From a small boat that row'd along 
The listening winds received this song. 

' What should we do but sing His praise 
That led us through the watery maze 
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
That lift the deep upon their backs, 
Unto an isle so long unknown. 
And yet far kinder than our own ? 
He lands us on a grassy stage, 
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage : 
He gave us this eternal Spring 
Which here enamels everything, 



SECOND 

And sends the fowls to us in care 

On daily visits through the air. 

He hangs in shades the orange bright 

Like golden lamps in a green night, 

And does in the pomegranates close 

Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 

He makes the figs onr mouths to meet 

And throws the melons at our feet ; 

But apples plants of such a price, 

No tree could ever bear them twice. 

With cedars chosen by His hand 

From Lebanon He stores the land ; 

And makes the hollow seas that roar 

Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 

He cast (of which we rather boast) 

The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 

And in these rocks for us did frame 

A temple where to sound His name. 

Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt 

Till it arrive at Heaven's valt, 

Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may 

Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! ' 

- — Thus sung they in the English boat 

A holy and a cheerful note : 

And all the M-ay, to guide their chime, 

With falling oars they kept the time. 

A. Mai-vell 



CXLVII 

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse 
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ, 
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce j 
And to our high-raised phantasy present 
That undisturbed Song of pure concent 
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne 
To Him that sits (hereon. 



^26 BOOK 

With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow ; 
And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 

Hymns devout ind holy psalms 

Singing everlastingly : 
That we on Earth, with undiscording voice 
May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin 
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
In first obedience, and their state of good. 
O may we soon again renew that Song, 
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
To His celestial consort us unite, 
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 

/. Milton 



CXLVIIk 

NOX NOCTl INDICA T 3CIENTIAM 

When I survey the bright 
Celestial sphere : 
So rich with jewels hung, that night 
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear ; 

My soul her wings doth spread, 
And heaven-ward flies, 
The Almighty's mysteries to read 
Tn the large volumes of the skies. 



For the bright firmament 
Shoots forth no flame 
So silent, but is eloquent 
In speaking the Creator's name. 



b'ECOND 

No unregarded star 
Contracts its light 
Into so small a character, 
Removed far from our human sight, 

But if we steadfast look, 
We shall discern 
In it as in some holy book, 
How man may heavenly knowledge learn. 

It tells the Conqueror, 

That far-siretch'd power 
Which his proud dangers traffic for, 
Is but the triumph of an hour. 

That from the farthest North 
Some nation may 
Yet undiscover'd issue forth. 
And o'er his new-got conquest sway. 

Some nation yet shut in 
With hills of ice, 
May be let out to scourge his sin, 
Till they shall equal him in vice. 

And then they likewise shall 
Their ruin have ; 
For as yourselves your Empires fall, 
And every Zingdom hath a grave. 

Thus those celestial fires, 
Though seeming mute, 
The fallacy of our desires 
And all the pride of life, confute. 

For they have watch'd since first 
The world had birth : 
And found sin in itself accursed. 
And nothing permanent on earth. 

W. Habhigton 



127 



228 BOOK 



HYMN TO DARKNESS 

Hail thou most sacred venerable thing ! 
What Muse is worthy thee to sing ? 
Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb 
All things, ev'n Light, thy rival, tirst did come. 
What dares he not attempt that sings of thee. 

Thou first and greatest mystery ? 
Who can the secrets of thy essence tell ? 
Thou, like the light of God, art inaccessible. 

Before great Love this monument did raise 

This ample theatre of praise ; 
Pefore the folding circles of the sky 
Were tuned by Him, Who is all harmony ; 
Before the morning Stars their hymn began, 

Before the council held for man, 
Before the birth of either time or place, 
Thou reign'st unquestion'd monarch in the empty 
space. 

Thy native lot thou didst to Light resign, 

But still half of the globe is thine. 
Here with a quiet, but yet awful hand, 
Like the best emperors thou dost command. 
To thee the stars above their brightness owe, 

And mortals their repose below : 
To thy protection fear and sorrow flee, 
And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee. 
J. Norris of Bemerton 



SECOND 129 



CL ■ 

A visiojsr 

I saw Eternity the other night, 

Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 

All calm, as it was bright : — 
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years. 

Driven by the spheres, 
Like a vast shadow moved ; in which the World 

And all her train were hurl'd, 

H. Vaughan 



/ILEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER 
OF MUSIC 

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son — 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne ; 
His valiant peers were placed around. 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, 
(So should desert in arms be crowr'd) ; 
The lovely Thais by his side 
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — 
Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
None but the brave 
None but the brave 
None but the brave deserves the fair ! 

Timotheus placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire 
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : 
The trembling notes ascend the sky 
And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove 
Who left his blissful seats above — 

K 



I30 BOOK 

Such is the power of mighty love ! 

A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; 

Sublime on radiant spires he rode 

When he to fair Olyrnpia prest, 

And while he sought her snowy breast, 

Then round her slender waist he curl'd, 

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the 

world. 
— The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; 
A present deity ! they shout around : 
A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound : 
With ravish'd ears 
The monarch hears, 
Assumes the god ; 
Affects to nod 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician 
sung, 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : 
The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! 
Flush'd with a purple grace 
He show^s his honest face : 

Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain ; 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
Rich the treasure. 
Sweet the pleasure, 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'er again. 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slev? 

the slain ! 
The master saw the madness rise, 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And while he Heaven and Earth defied 
Changed his hand and check'd his pride. 
He chose a mournful Muse 
Soft pity to infuse : 



SECOND 13* 

He sung Darius great and good, 

By too severe a fate 

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 

Fallen from his high estate. 

And weltering in his blood ; 

Deserted at his utmost need 

By those his former bounty fed ; 

On the bare earth exposed he lies 

With not a friend to close his eyes. 

— With downcast looks the joyless victor sate. 

Revolving in his alter'd soul 

The various turns of Chance below ; 

And now and then a sigh he stole. 

And tears began to flow. 

The mighty master smiled to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble, 
Honour but an empty bubble ; 
Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying ; 
If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, O think, it worth enjoying : 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
Take the good the gods provide thee ! 
— The many rend the skies withjoud applause ; 
So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care. 

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
At length with love and wine at once opprest 
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again : 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 
Break his bands of sleep asunder 
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thund 



132 BOOK SECOND 

Hark, hark ! the horrid sound 

Has raised up his head : 

As awaked from the dead 

And amazed he stares around. 

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, 

See the Furies arise ! 

See the snakes that they rear 

How they hiss in their hair, 

And the sparkles that flash trom their eyes I 

Behold a ghastly band. 

Each a torch in his hand ! 

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 

And unburied remain 

Inglorious on the plain : 

Give the vengeance due 

To the valiant crew ! 

Behold how they toss their torches on high, 

How they point to the Persian abodes 

And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 

— The princes applaud with a furious joy : 

And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to 

destroy ; 
Thais led the way 
To light him to his prey. 
And like another Helen, fired another Troy ! 

— Thus, long ago. 
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre 

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came. 
Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With Nature^s mother-wit, and arts unknown before 
— Let old Timotheus yield the prize 
Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
She drew an ansel down ! 

/. D'-\"fen 






ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
VICISSITUDE 

Now the golden Morn aloft 

Waves her dew- bespangled wing, 
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 

She woos the tardy Spring : 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 

New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 

Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 
Forgetful of their wintry trance 

The birds his presence greet : 
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
His trembling thrilling ecstasy ; 
And lessening from the dazzled sight, 
Melts into air and liquid light. 

Yesterday the sullen year 

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; 
Mute was the music of the air, 

The herd stood drooping by : 
Their raptures now that wildly flow 
No yesterday nor morrow know ; 
'Tis Man alone that joy descries 
With forward and reverted eyes. 



134 BOOK 

Smiles on past misfortune's brow 
Soft reflection's hand can trace, 
And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 

A melancholy grace ; 
While hope prolongs our happier hour. 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 

Still, where rosy pleasure leads, 

See a kindred grief pursue ; 
Behind the steps that misery treads 

Approaching comfort view : 
The hues of bliss more brightly glow 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe, 
And blended form, with artful strife, 
The strength and harmony of life 

See the wretch that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost 

And breathe and walk again : 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies. 
To him are opening Paradise. 

T. Gray 

CLIII 

ODE TO SIMPLICITY 

O Thou, by Nature taught 

To breathe her genuine thought 
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong ; 

Who first, on mountains wild, 

In Fancy, loveliest child. 
Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song 

Thou, who with hermit heart, 

Disdain'st ihe wealth of art, 
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall, 

But com'st, a decent maid 

In Attic robe array'd, 
O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call ! 



THIRD 13^ 

By all the honey'd store 

On Hybla's thy my shore, 
By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear ° 

By her whose love-Icrn woe 

In evening musings slow 
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear • 

By old Cephisus deep. 

Who spread his v/avy sweep 
In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat | 

On whose enamell'd side, 

When holy Freedom died, 
No equal haunt allured thy future feet : — 

O sister meek of Truth, 

To my admiring youth 
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse ! 

The flowers that sweetest breathe, 

Though Beauty cuU'd the wreath, 
Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues. 

While Rome could none esteem 

But Virtue's patriot the ne, 
You loved her hills, and led her laureat band ; 

But stay'd to sing alone 

To one distin.t,aish'd throne ; 
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land. 

No more, in hall or bower. 

The Passions own thy power ; 
Love, only Love, her forceless -numbers mean : 

For thou hast left her shrine ; 

Nor olive more, nor vine, 
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. 

Though taste, though genius, bless 

To some divine excess, 
Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole ; 

What each, what all supply 

May court, may charm our eye ; 
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul J 

Of these let others ask 
To aid some mighty task ; 



'36 BOOK 

I only seek to find thy temperate vale ; 
Where oft my reed might sound 
To maids and shepherds round, 

And all thy sons, O Nature I learn my tale. 

IK Collins 



SOLITUDE 

Happy the man, whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air 

In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with "bread. 
Whose flocks supply him with attire ; 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
In winter fire. 

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 
In health of body, peace of mind, 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
Together mixt, sweet recreation, 
And innocence, which most does please 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; 
Thus unlamented let me die ; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie^ 
A. Pope 

CLV 

THE BLIND BOY 

O say what is that thing call'd Light, 

Which I must ne'er enjoy ; 
What are the blessings of the sight, 

O tell your poor blind boy ! 



THIRD 137 

i.^'ou talk Of wondrous things you see, 

You say the sun shines bright ; 
I feel him warm, but how can he 

Or make it day or night ? 

My day or night myself I make 

Whene'er I sleep or play ; 
And could I ever keep awake 

With me 'twere always day. 

vVith heavy sighs I often hear 

You mourn my hapless woe ; 
But sure with patience I can bear 

A loss I ne'er can know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 

My cheer of mind destroy : 
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 

Although a poor blind boy. 

C. Cibber 



ON A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A 
TUB OF GOLD FISHES 

'Twas on a lofty vase's side. 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 
The azure flowers that blow, 
Demurest of the tabby kind 
The pensive Selima, recUi ed, 
Gazed on the lake belowo 

Her conscious tail her joy declared : 
The fair round fece, the snowy beard, 
The velvet of her paws, 
Her coat that with the tortoise vies. 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes — 
She saw, and purr'd applause. 

Still had she ga/.ed, but 'midst the tide 
Two angel forms were seen to glide. 



138 BOOK 

The Genii of the stream : 
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue 
Through richest purple, to the vie\7 
Betray'd a golden gleam. 

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw ; 
A whisker first, and then a claw 
With many an ardent wish 
She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize- 
What female heart can gold despise ? 
What Cat's averse to fish ? 

Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent 
Again she stretch'd, again she bent, 
Nor knew the gulf between- 
Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — 
The slippery verge her feet beguiled ; 
She tumbled headlong in ! 

Eight times emerging from the flood 
She mew'd to every watery God 
Some speedy aid to send : — 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr d, 
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — 
A favourite has no friend ! 

From hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived 
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved. 
And be with caution bold : 
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, 
Nor all that glisters, gold ! 

Z. Gray 



CLVII 

TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY 

Timely blossom. Infant fair, 
Fondling of a happy pair, 
Every morn and every night 
Their solicitous delight, 
Sleeping, waking, still at ease- 



THIRD 139 

Pleasing, without skill to please ; 

Little gossip, blithe and hale, 

Tattling many a broken tale, 

Singing many a tuneless song, 

Lavish of a heedless tongue ; 

Simple maiden, void of art, 

Babbling out the very heart. 

Yet abandon'd to thy will. 

Yet imagining no ill, 

Yet too innocent to iDhish ; 

Like the linnet in the bush 

To the mother- linnet's note 

Moduling her slender throat ; 

Chirping forth thy petty joys, 

Wanton in the change of toys, 

Like the linnet green, in May 

Flitting to each bloomy spray ; 

Wearied then and glad of rest, 

Like the linnet in the nest : — 

This thy present happy lot 

This, in time will be forgot : 

Other pleasures, other cares. 

Ever-busy Time prepares ; 
And thou shalt in thy daughter see, 
This picture, once, resembled thee. 

A. Philips 

CLVIII 

RULE BRITANNIA 

When Britain first at Heaven's command 

Arose from out the azure main. 
This was the charter of her land, 

And guardian angels sung the strain : 
Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves 
Britons never shall be slaves. 

The nations not so blest as thee 
Must in their turn to tyrants fall. 

Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free 
The dread and envy of them all. 



HO BOOK 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 

All their attempts to bend thee down 
Will but arouse thy generous flame, 

And work their woe and thy renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign ; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
Ail thine shall be the subject main. 

And every shore it circles thine ! 

The Muses, still with Freedom found, 

Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd 
And manly hearts to guard the fair : — 
Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
Erif-ons never shall be slaves ! 
J. Tho7nson 



CLIX 

THE BARD 
Pindaric Ode 

Ruin seise thee, ruthless King ! 

Confusion on thy banners wait ; 
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing 

They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 
Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears ! '' 
— Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay. 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array :— 
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance i 



THIRD 141 

* To arms ! ' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering 
lance. 

On a rock, whose haughty brow- 
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 

Robed in the sable garb of woe 
With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; 
(Loose his beard and hoary hair 
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air) 
And with a master's hand and prophet's fire 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : 

' Hark, how each giant-oak and desert-cave 
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 
O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms they wave, 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
To high-born HoeFs harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

' Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 

That hush'd the stormy main : 
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 

Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore they lie 
Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale : 
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ; 

The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. 

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
No more I weep ; They do not sleep ; 

On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 
I see them sit ; They linger yet, 

Avengers of their native land : 
With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line 

Weave the warp and weave the woof 
The winding sheet of Edward^ s race ; 

Give ample ygojh and verge enough 
The characters of hell to trace. 



142 BOOK 

Mark the year, and mark the night. 

When Severn shall re-echo with affright 

The shrieks of death thro' Berkleys roof that ring^ 

Shrieks of an agonizijig king ! 

She-wolf of Fro7ice, with n nrelenti}7g fangs 
That iear''st the bowels of thy ynangled mate, 

Fj'OJn thee be born, who der thy country hangs 
The scourge of heaven! What terrors round him 

wait I 
Amazement in his van, zvithffivhl combined. 
And sorrow'' s faded forj?i, and solittide behind. 

' Mighty victor, mighty lord. 

Low on his funtral couch he lie'^ ! 
No pitying heart, no eye, afford 

A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable warrior fed ? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noon-tide beafu were born ? 
— GoJie to salute the rising morn. 
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 

While pro2idly riditig o'er the azure realm 
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes : 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: 
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind'' s sway. 
That hush d in grim repose expects his evening prey. 

' Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
The rich repast prepare : 

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : 
Close by the regal chair 

Fell 7'hirst and Famine scowl 

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest, 
Heard ye the din of battle bray. 

Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? 

Long years of havock urge their destined course. 
And thrd the kindred squadrons 7now their way. 

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame. 
With many afoul and midnight murder fed, 

Revej'e his consort' s faith, his father"" s fame. 
And spare the meetc usurper'' s holy head I 
Above, below, the rose of snow. 



THIRD 143 

Twined with her blushing foe, we spnad ■ 
The bristled boar in infant-gore 

Wallows beneath the thorny s/mde. 
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom. 
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doofn 

' Edward, lo ! to sudden ftte 

( Weave we the woof ; The thread is spun ;) 
Half of thy heart we consecrate. 

( The zveb is wove ; 'I 'he tuork is done. ) 
—Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : 
In yon bright track that fi'-es the western skies 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
Eut oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 

Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! 
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail : — 
A.11 hail, ye genuine kings ! Britannia's issue, hail ! 

' Girt with many a baron bold 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; 

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
In bearded majesty, appear. 
In the midst a form divine ! 
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line : 
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face 
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 

What strains of vocal transport round her play ? 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear ; 

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, 
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour'd wings. 

' The verse adorn again 

Fierce war, and faith ul love, 
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. 

In buskin'd measures move 
Pale grief, and pleasing pain, 
With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
A voice as of the cherub-choir 



144 BOOK 

Gales from blooming Eden bear, 

And distant warblings lessen on my ear 
That lost in long futurity expire. 
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud 

Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orbof day ? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me : with joy I see 

The different doom our fates assign : 
Be thine despair and sceptred care, 

To triumph and to die are mine.' 
— He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's 

height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 

T. Gray 



ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blest I 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung. 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung : 
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 

IV. Collins 

CLXI 

LAMENT FOR CULLODEN 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, Alas ! 
And aye the saut tear blins her ee : 
Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 



THIRD 145 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear, 
My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see : 
And by theiii lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 

/\. Burns 

CLXll 

LAMENT FOR FLODDEN 

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, 

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day ; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are 
scorning, 

Lasses are lonely a«d dowie and wae ; 
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, 

Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray ; 

At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
^Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; 

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 
The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the 
Border ." 
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the 
foremost, 
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 



146 BOOK 

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking ; 

Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

/. Elliott 

CLXIII 

THE BRAES OF YARROW 

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, 
When first on them I met my lover ; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 
When now thy waves his body cover ! 
For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! 
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
For never on thy banks shall I 
Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow ! 

He promised me a miik-white steed 

To bear me to his father's bowers ; 

He promised me a little page 

To squire me to his father's towers ; 

He promised me a wedding-ring, — 

The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ; — 

Now he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow 1 

Sweet were his words when last we met ; 
My passion I as freely told him ; 
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought 
That I should never more behold him ! 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, 
And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 

His mother from the window look'd 
With all the longing of a mother ; 
His little sister weeping walk'd 
The green-wood path to meet her brother ; 
They sought him east, they sought him west, 
They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only saw the cloud of night, 
They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 



THIRD 147 

No longer from thy window look — 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 
No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
No longer seek him east or west 
And search no more the forest thorough ; 
For, wandering in the night so dark, 
He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 

The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow — 
I'll seek thy body in the stream, 
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. 
■ — The tear did never leave her cheek. 
No other youth became her marrow ; 
She found his body in the stream. 
And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 

J. Logan 



CLXIV 

WILLY DROWNED IN YARROl^ 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay 
Where bonnie grows the lily, 

I heard a fair maid sighing say, 
' My wish be wi' sweet Willie ! 

* Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 

And Willie's wondrous bonny ; 
And Willie hecht to marry me 
Gin e'er he married ony. 

* O gentle wind, that bloweth south 

From where my Love repaireth. 
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth 
And tell me how he fareth ! 

' O tell sv,'eet Willie to come doun 
And hear the mavis singing. 

And see the birds on ilka bush 
And leaves around then^ hinging. 



148 BOOK 

' The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast 
And gentle throat sae narrow ; 

There's sport eneuch for gentlemen 
On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 

* O Leader haughs are wide and braid 

And Yarrow haughs are bonny ; 
There Willie hecht to marry me 
If e'er he married ony. 

' But Willie's gone, whom I thought on. 
And does not hear me weeping ; 

Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e 
When other maids are sleeping. 

* Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 

The night I'll mak' it narrow. 
For a' the live-lang winter night 
I lie twined o' my marrow. 

* O came ye by yon water-side ? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily ? 
Or came you by yon mea<low green. 
Or saw you my sweet Willie ?' 

She sought him up, she sought him dowa 
She sought him braid and narrow ; 

Syne, in the cleaving of a craig. 
She found him drow^n'd in Yarrow ! 
Ano7i. 



LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 

Toll for the Brave ! 
The brave that are no more ! 
All sunk beneath the wave 
Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave 
Whose courage well was tried, 
Had made the vessel heel 
And laid her on her side. 



THIRD 149 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds 
And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 
With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 
Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought, 
His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 
No tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak. 
She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheath. 
His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 
With twice four hundred men. 

— Weigh the vessel up 
Once dreaded by our foes '. 
And mingle with our cup 
The tears that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again 

Full charged with England's thunder, 

And plough the distant main : 

But Kempenfelt is gone. 
His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 
Shall plough the wave no more. 

IV. Cowper 

CLXVI 

BLACK-EYED SUSAN 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 
The streamers waving in the wind, 

When black-eyed Susan came aboard ; 
* O ! where shall I my true-love find ? 

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 

If my sweet William sails among the crew. 



150 BOOK 

William, who high upon the yard 

Rock'd with the billow to and fro, 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard 

He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below : 
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, 
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast 

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear. 
And drops at once into her nest : — 

The noblest captain in the British fleet 

Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet 

* O Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 

My vows shall ever true remain ;' 
Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 

We only part to meet again. 
Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

' Believe not what the landmen say 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind ; 

They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
In every port a mistress find : 

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 

For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 

' If to fair India's coast we sail, 
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright. 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 

Thus every beauteous object that I view 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

* Though battle call me from thy arms 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 

William shall to his Dear return. 
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly. 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.' 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
The sails their swelling bosom spread 
No longer must she stay aboard ; 



THIRD 

They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. 
Her lessening boat unwiUing rows to land ; 
' Adieu ! ' she cries ; and waved her lily hand. 

/. Gay 

PLXVII 

SALLY nV OUR ALLEY 

Of all the girls that are so smart 

There's none like pretty Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 
There is no lady in the land 

Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets 

And through the streets does cry 'em ; 
Her mother she sells laces long 

To such as please to buy 'em : 
But sure such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

When she is by, I leave my work, 

I love her so sincerely ; 
My master comes like any Turk, 

And bangs me most severely — 
But let him bang his bellyful, 

I'll bear it all for Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Of all the days that's in the week 

I dearly love but one day — 
And that's the day that comes betwixt 

A Saturday and Monday ; 
For then I'm drest all in my best 

To walk abroad with Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 



152 BOOK 

My master carries me to church, 

And often am I blamed 
Because I leave him in the lurch 

As soon as text is named ; 
I leave the church in sermon-time 

And slink away to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

When Christmas comes about again 

O then I shall have money ; 
I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 

I'll give it to my honey : 
I would it were ten thousand pound, 

I'd give it all to Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master and the neighbours all 

Make game of me and Sally, 
And, but for her, I'd better be 

A slave and row a galley ; 
But when my seven long years are out 

O then I'll marry Sally, — 
O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed. 
But not in our alley ! 

H. Carey 



CLXVIII 

A FAREWELL 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go 

A service to my bonnie lassie : 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry. 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary, 



THIRD 153 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 

R. Bums 



CLXIX 

If doughty deeds my lady please 

Right soon I'll mount my steed ; 
And strong his arm, and fast his seat 

That bears frae me the meed. 
I'll wear thy colours in my cap 

Thy picture at my heart ; 
And he that bends not to thine eye 
Shall rue it to his smart ! 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ; 

O tell me how to woo thee ! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take 
Tho' ne'er another trow me. 

If gay attire delight thine eye 

I'll dight me in array ; 
I'll tend thy chamber door all night. 

And squire thee all the day. 
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear. 

These sounds I'll strive to catch ; 
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, 

That voice that nane can match. 

But if fond love thy heart can gain, 

I never broke a vow ; 
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 

I never loved but you. 
For you alone I ride the ring. 

For you I wear the blue ; 
For you alone I strive to sing, 

O tell me how to woo ! 



154 BOOK 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ; 

O tell me how to woo thee ! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, 

Tho' ne'er another trow me. 

R. Graham of Gartmore 



CLXX 

TO A YOUNG LADY 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along. 

Far from the world's gay busy throng ; 

With gentle yet prevailing force, 

Intent upon her destined course ; 

Graceful and useful all she does. 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; 

Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass 

And Heaven reflected in her face. 

IV. Cowper 



CLXXl 

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile— 
Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes. 
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile 
And move, and breathe delicious sighs ! 

Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks 
And mantle o'er her neck of snow : 
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
What most I wish — and fear to know ! 

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps ! 
Her fair hands folded on her breast : 
— And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! 
A. seraph in the realms of rest ! 



THIRD 155 

Sleep on secure i Above controul 
Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee : 
And may the secret of thy soul 
Remain within its sanctuary ! 

S. Rogers 



For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 
An unrelenting foe to Love, 
And when we meet a mutual heart 
Come in between, and bid us part ? 

Bid us sigh on from day to day. 
And wish and wish the soul away ; 
Till youth and genial years are flown, 
And all the life of life is gone ? 

But busy, busy, still art thou. 
To bind the loveless joyless vow, 
•The heart from pleasure to delude, 
To join the gentle to the rude. 

For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, 
And I absolve thy future care ; 
All other blessings I resign, 
Make but the dear Amanda mine. 

J. Tho77ison 



The merchant, to secure his treasure, 
Conveys it in a borrow'd name : 
Euphelia serves to grace my measure, 
But Cloe is my real flame. 

My softest verse, my darling lyre 
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay — 
\Vhen Cloe noted her desire 
That I should sing, that I should play. 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise. 
But with my numbers mix my sighs ; 
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. 



156 BOOK 

Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd : 
I sung, and gazed ; I play'd, and trembled , 
And Venus to the Loves around 
Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. 
M. Prior 



CLXXIV 

LOVE'S SECRET 

Never seek to tell thy love, 
Love that never told can be ; 

For the gentle wind doth move 
Silently, invisibly. 

I told my love, I told my love, 
I told her all my heart. 

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears : 
Ah ! she did depart. 

Soon after she was gone from me 

A traveller came by, 
Silently, invisibly : 

He took her with a sigh. 

VV^ Blake 



When lovely woman stoops to folly 
And finds too late that men betray, — 
What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
What art can wash her guilt away ? 

The only art her guilt to cover. 
To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 

O' Goldsmith 



THIRD 



Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 

How can ye blume sae fair ! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care ! 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause Luve was true, 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love ; 

And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae aff its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose. 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



CLXXVII 

THE PROGRESS OF POES\ 

A Phtdaric Ode 

Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
From Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take 
The laughing flowers that round them blow 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
Now the rich stream of music winds along 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 



157 



^ 



158 BOOK 

Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign ; 
Now rolling down the steep amain 
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the 
roar. 

Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, 
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares 

And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul, 
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
Has curb'd the fury of his car 
And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. 
Perching on the sceptred hand 
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king 
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : 
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
'I he terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 

Thee the voice, the dance, obey 

Temper'd to thy warbled lay. 

O'er Idalia's velvet-green 

The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 

On Cytherea's day ; 

With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 

Frisking light in frolic measures ; 

Now pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet : 
To brisk notes in cadence beating 

Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : 

Where'er she turns, the Grnces homage pay : 
With arms sublime that float upon the air 

In gliding state she wins her easy way : 
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love 

Man's feeble race what ills await ! 
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate ,' 
The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove. 



THIRD 159 

Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse ? 

Night, and all her sickly dews, 

Her spectres wan, and birds. of boding cry 

He gives to range the dreary sky : 

Till down the eastern cliffs afar 

Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 

In climes beyond the solar road 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 

To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the 'odorous shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid, 
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat 
In loose numbers wdldly sweet 
Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. 
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, 
Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 
Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, 
Fields that cool Ilissus laves. 
Or where Maeander's amber waves 
In lingering labyrinths creep, 
How^ do your tuneful echoes languish, 
Mute, but to the voice of anguish ! 
Where each old poetic mountain 

Inspiration breathed around ; 
Every shade and hallow'd fountain 

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound : 
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour 

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost. 
They sought, oh Albion ! next, thy sea-encircled coast 

Far from the sun and summer-gale 
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, 
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 

To him the mighty Mother did unveil 
Her awful face : the dauntless child 
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 



i6o BOOK 

* This pencil take ' (she said), ' whose colours clear 

Richly paint the vernal year : 

Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! 

This can unlock the gates of joy ; 

Of horror that, and thrilling fears. 

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.' 

Nor second He, that rode sublime 
Upon the seraph-wings of Extasy 
The secrets of the abyss to spy : 

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time : 
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze 
Where angels tremble while they gaze. 
He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
Two coursers of ethereal race, 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding 
pace 

Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 

Bright- eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 

But ah ! 'tis heard no more — 

Oh ! lyre divine, what daring spirit 

Wakes thee now ? Tho' he inherit 

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, 

That the Theban eagle bear, 
Sailing with supreme dominion 

Thro' the azure deep of air : 
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate : 
Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 

T, Gray 



THIRD i6i 



CLXXVIII 

THE PASSIONS 

An Ode for Music 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around her magic cell 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possest beyond the Muse's painting ; 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined : 
'Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatch'd her instruments of sound, 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid. 

And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 
In lightnings, own'd his secret stings ; 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre 

And swept with hurried hand the strings 

With woeful measures wan Despair, 
Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled ; 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair. 
What was thy delighted measure ? 

Still it whisper'd promised pleasure 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 

Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 
M 



i62 BOOK 

She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 

hair ; — 
And longer had she sung : —but with a frown 

Revenge impatient rose : 
He <^hrew his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; 
And with a withering look 
The war-denouncing trumpet took 
And blew a blast so loud and dread. 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And ever and anon he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat ; 
And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side 
Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien. 
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting 

from his head. 
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd : 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; 
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on 
Hate. 

With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And from her wild sequester'd seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 

And dashing soft from rocks around 

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure 

stole, 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 

Round an holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace, and lonely musing. 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But O ! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone 
W^hen Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 



THIRD 163 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known ! 

The oak-crown'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, 
Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 

He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest : 

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 

They would have thought who heard the strain 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings. 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
And he, amidst his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay, 

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

O Music ! sphere-descended mlid. 
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, 
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
As in that loved Athenian bower 
You learn'd an all-commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd. 
Can well recall what then it heard. 
Where is thy native simple heart 
Devote to Virtue^ Fancy, Art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time, 
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! 
Thy wonders, in that god-like age, 
Fill thy recording Sister's page ; — 
'Tis said, and I believe the tale. 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
M 2 



i64 BOOK 

Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
Than all which charms this laggard age 
E'en all at once together found, 
Cecilia's mingled world of sound : — 
O bid our vain endeavours cease : 
Revive the just designs of Greece : 
Return in all thy simple state ! 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 

W. Collins 



THE SONG OF DA VID 

He sang of God, the mighty source 
Of all things, the stupendous force 

On which all strength depends : 
From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes. 
All period, power, and enterprise 

Commences, reigns, and ends. 

The world, the clustering spheres He made, 
The glorious light, the soothing shade, 

Dale, champaign, grove and hill : 
The multitudinous abyss. 
Where secrecy remains in bliss, 

And wisdom hides her skill. 

Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said 

To Moses : while Earth heard in dread, 

And, smitten to the heart, 
At once, above, beneath, around, 
All Nature, without voice or sound, 

Rephed, ' O Lord, THOU ART.' 
C. Smart 



THIRD 165 

CLXXX 

INFANTJOY 

* I have no name ; 

I am but two days old,' 
—What shall I call thee ? 

* I happy am ; 
Joy is my name.' 

— Sweet joy befall thee ! 

Pretty joy ! 

Sweet joy, but two days old ; 

Sweet joy I call thee : 

Thou dost smile : 

I sing the while, 

Sweet joy befall thee ! 

W. Blake 

A CRADLE SONG 

CLXXXl 

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright. 
Dreaming in the joys of night ; 
Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
Little sorrows sit and weep. 

Sweet babe, in thy face 
Soft desires I can trace, 
Secret joys and secret smiles, 
Little pretty infant wiles. 

As thy softest limbs I feel, 
Smiles as of the morning steal 
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
Where thy little heart doth rest. 

Oh the cunning wiles that creep 
In thy little heart asleep ! 
When thy little heart doth wake, 
Then the dreadful light shall break. 

W. Blake 



i66 BOOK 



CLXXXII 

ODE ON THE SPRING 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear. 
Disclose the long-expecting flowers 

And wake the purple year ! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 
The untaught harmony of Spring : 
While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 

Their gather'd fragrance fling. 

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader, browner shade, 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade, 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardour of the crowd, 
How low, how little are the proud, 

How indigent the great ! 

Still is the toiling hand of Care ; 

The panting herds repose : 
Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows ! 
The insect-youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honied spring 
And float amid the liquid noon : 
Some lightly o'er the current skim, 
Some show their gaily-gilded trim 

Quick-glancing to the sun. 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of Man : 
And they that creep, and they that fly. 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the Busy and the Gay / 



THIRD 167 

But flutter thro' life's little day, 
In Fortune's varying colours drest : 
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance 
They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

The sportive kind reply : 
Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? 

A solitary fly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
No painted plumage to display : 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 

We frolic while 'tis May. 

T. Gray 



CLXXXIII 

THE POPLAR FIELD 

The poplars are fell'd ; farewell to the shade 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves. 
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew 
And now in the grass behold they are laid. 
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat 
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; 
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away. 
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they. 
With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, 
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 



i68 BOOK 

The change both my heart and my fancy employs ; 
I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys : 
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 

IV. Cowper 



CLXXXIV 

TO A MOUSE 

On turning her up ifi her nest, with the plough^ 
November, 1785 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 

what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
Wi' bickering brattle ! 

1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 
Wi' murd'ring pat tie ! 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 

Has broken Nature's social union, 

An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 

At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve ; 

What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 

A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin : 
And naething, now, to big a new ane, 
O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin' 
Baith snell an' keen ! 



THIRD 169 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste 

An' weary winter comin' fast, 

An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 

Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble. 
But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble 
An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 
Gang aft a-gley, 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 
For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 

The present only toucheth thee : 

But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 

An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 

R. Burns 



CLXXXV 

A WISH 

Mine be a cot beside the hill ; 
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; 
A willowy brook that turns a mill, 
With many a fall shall linger near. 

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 



I70 BOOK 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
In russet-gown and apron blue. 

The village-church among the trees, 
Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
And point with taper spire to Heaven. 

S. Rogei'S 



CLXXXVI 

ODE TO EVENING 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 

May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear 

Like thy own solemn springs. 

Thy springs, and dying gales ; 

O Nymph reserved, — while now the bright-hair'd 

sun 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal wove, 

O'erhang his wavy bed ; 

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat 
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 

Or where the beetle winds 

His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — 

Now teach me, maid composed. 

To breathe some soften'd strain 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 

As, musing slow, I hail 

Thy genial loved return. 



THIRD 171 

For when thy folding-star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

Ihe fragrant Hours, and Elves 

Who slept in buds the day, 

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with 

sedge 
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still. 

The pensive Pleasures sweet, 

Prepare thy shadowy car. 

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; 
Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells. 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy religious gleams. 

Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 

That, from the mountain's side, 

Views wilds, and sv/elling floods. 

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; 
And hears their simple bell ; and marks o'er all 

Thy dewy fingers draw 

The gradual dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 

While Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light ; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air. 

Affrights thy shrinking train 

And rudely rends thy robes ; 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule. 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 

Thy gentlest influence own, 

And love thy favourite name ! 

W. Collins 



172 BOOK 



CLXXXVII 

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
CHURCHYARD 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient soUtary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. 
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not ambition m.ock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 



THIRD 173 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour : — 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or w aked to extas}/ the living lyre : 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command. 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes 

Their lot forbad : nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 



174 BOOK 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way 

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd. 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply : 
And many a holy text around she strews. 
That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd. 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries. 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead. 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,-^ 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say. 
' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; 

' There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch. 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 



THIRD 175 

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn. 
Or crazed with care, or cross' d in hopeless love. 

* One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

' The next with dirges due in sad array 
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne, — 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' 

THE EPITAPH 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth 
And melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

T. Gray 

CLXXXVIII 

MARY MORISON 

O Mary, at thy window be. 
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 
That make the miser's treasure j>oor : 
How bhthely wad I bid the stoure, 
A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
Could I the rich reward secure, 
The lovely Mary M orison. 



176 BOOK 

Yestreen when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the hghted ha'. 
To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
' Ye are na Mary Morison.' 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 
The thought o' Mary Morison. 

R. Burns 



BONNIE LESLEY 

O saw ye bonnie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever ; 

For Nature made her what she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee ; 

Thou art divine, Fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

-He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
And say ' I canna wrang thee ! ' 



THIRD 177 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 

R. Burns 



O my Luve's like a red, red rose 
That's newly sprung in June : 

my Luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry : 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 

1 will luve thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only Luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile ; 
And I will come again, my Luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

R. Burns 



CXCI 

HIGHLAND MARY 

/e banks and braes and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 

N 



[78 BOOK 

There simmer first unfauld her robes, 
And there the langest tarry ; 

For there I took the last fareweel 
O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours on angel wings 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace 

Our parting M'as fu' tender ; 
And pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But, Oh ! fell Death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

1 aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ; 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

R. Burns 



CXCII 

A ULD ROBIN GRA V 

\Vhen the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye 

hame, 
And a' the world to rest are gane, 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
While my gudeman lies sound by me. 



THIRD 179 

Voung Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his 

bride ; 
But saving a croun he had naething else beside : 
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ; 
And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, 

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was 

stown awa ; 
My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — 
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. 

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; 
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his 

e'e 
Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me ! 

My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a 

wrack ; 
His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee ? 
Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me ? 

My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak ; 

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to 

break : 
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea ; 
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he 
Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee. 

sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away ; 

1 wish that I were dead, but I'm up like to dee ; 
And why was I born to say, Wae's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, 
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 

Lady A. Lindsay 
N 2 



i8o bOOK 



DUNCAN GRAY 



Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
On blythe Yule night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't : 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', 
Spak o' lowpin ower a linn ! 

Time and chance are but a tide, 
Slighted love is sair to bide ; 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. 
For a haughty hizzie dee ? 
She may gae to — France for me ♦ 

How it comes let doctors tell, 

Meg grew sick — as he grew well ; 

Something in he- bosom wrings. 

For relief a sigh she brings ! 

And O, her een, they spak sic things ! 

Duncan was a lad o' grace ; 
Maggie's was a piteous case ; 
Duncan couldna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and canty baith : 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 

R. Burns 



THIRD i8l 

CXCIV 

THE SAILOR'S WIFE 

And are ye sure the news is true ? 

And are ye sure he's weel ? 
Is this the time to think o' wark ? 

Ve jades, lay by your wheel ; 
Is this the time to spin a thread, 

When Colin's at the door ? 
Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, 

And see him come ashore. 
For there's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the house 

When our gudeman's awa'. 

And gie to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's satin gown ; 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 

That Colin's in the town. 
My Turkey slippers mnun gae on, 

My stockins pearly blue ; 
It's a' to i)leasure our gudeman, 

iFor he's baith leal and true. 

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gie little Kate her button gown 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 

Their hose as white as snaw ; 
It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 

For he's been long awa. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 

Been fed this month and mair ; 
Mak haste and thraw their necks aboutp 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And spread the table neat and clean, 

Gar ilka thing look braw. 
For wha can tell how Colin fared 

When he was far awa ? 



l82 BOOK 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speechj 

His breath like caller air ; . 
His very foot has music in't 

As he comes up the stair — 
And will I see his face again ? 

And will I hear him speak ? 
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. 

In troth I'm like to greet ! 

If Colin's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave : 
And gin I live to keep him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave : 
And will I see his face again, 

And will I hear him speak? 
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I'm like to greet. 
For there's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the house 

When our gudeman's awa'. 

W. J. Mickle 



cxcv 
ABSENCE 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us lie. 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours. 

As ye were wae and weary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 

Anon. 



THIRD 183 



JEAN 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I dearly Hke the West, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I io'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie tlower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings 

But miners me o' my Jean. 

O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees ; 
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 

What sighs and vows amang the knowes 

Hae pass"d atween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part 

That night she gaed awa ! 
The Powers aboon can only ken 

To whom the heart is seen, 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! 

R. Burns 



184 BOOK 



JOHN ANDERSON 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
When we were first acquent 
Your locks were like the raven, 
Your bonnie brow Avas brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 
Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 
John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither, 
And mony a canty day, John, 
We've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 
But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson my jo. 

R. Burns 



CXCVIII 

THE LAND O' THE LEAL 

I'm wearing awa', Jean, 

Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, 

I'm wearing awa' 

To the land o' the leal. 
There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
The day is aye fair 

In the land o' the leal. 

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 
Your task's ended noo, Jean, 
And I'll welcome you 
To the land o' the leal. 



THIPJ) 185 

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, 
She was baith guid and lair, Jean ; 
O we grudged her right sair 
To the land o' the leal ! 

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 
My soul langs to be free, Jean, 
And angels wait on me 

To the land o' the leal. 
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 
This warld's care is vain, Jean ; 
We'll meet and aye be fain 

In the land o' the leal ! 

Lady Nairn 



ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF 
ETON COLLEGE 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 

That crown the watery glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade ; 
And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver-winding way : 

Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing shade ! 

Ah fields beloved in vain ! 
Where once my careless childhood stray'd, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow, 
As waving fresh their gladsom?? wing 
My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 



586 BOOK 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 

The paths of pleasure trace ; 
Who foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave ? 
The captive linnet which enthral ? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed 

Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some on earnest business bent 

Their murmuring labours ply 
'Gainst gra.\er hours that bring constrain.: 

To sweeten liberty : 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign 
And unknown regions dare descry : 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind, 
And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest ; 
The tear forgot as soon as she 1, 

The sunshine of the breast : 
Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever new. 
And lively cheer, of vigour born ; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light 

That fly th' approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom 

The little victims play ; 
No sense have they of ills to come 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The ministers of human fate 
And black Misfortune's baleful train ! 
Ah show them where in ambush stand 
To seize their prey, the murderous band I 

Ah, tell them they are men ! 



THIRD 18, 

These sliall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 

Arid Shame that sculks behind ■- 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth. 
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth 
That inly gnaws the secret heart. 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 

And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 

Then whirl the wretch from high 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall try 
And hard Unkindness" alter'd eye. 
That mocks the tear it forced to flow : 
And keen Remorse with blood defiled. 
And moody Madness laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 

Lo, in the vale of years beneath 

A griesly troop are seen. 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their queen : 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins.. 
That every labouring sinew strams. 
Those in the deeper vitals rage ; 
Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 

And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condemn'd alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 
And happiness too swiftly flies ? 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No rnore ;— where ignorance is bliss, 

'Tis folly to be wise. 

T. Gray 



t88 BOOK 



cc 
THE SHRUBBERY 

O happy shades ! to me unblest ! 

Friendly to peace, but not to me ! 
How ill the scene that offers rest, 

And heart that cannot rest, agree ! 

This glassy stream, that spreading pine,. 
Those alders quivering to the breeze, 

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
And please, if anything could please. 

But fix'd unalterable Care 

Foregoes not what she feels within. 
Shows the same sadness everywhere. 

And slights the season and the scene. 

For all that pleased in wood or lawn 

While Peace possess'd these silent towers, 

Her animating smile v/ithdrawn. 

Has lost its beauties and its powers. 

The saint or moralist should tread 
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow, 

They seek like me the secret shade, 
But not, like me, to nourish woe ! 

Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste 

Alike admonish not to roam ; 
These tell me of enjoyments past, 

And those of sorrows yet to come. 

W. Cowper 

cci 

HYMN TO ADVERSITY 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 
Thou tamer of the human breast, 

Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
The bad affright, afflict the best ! 

Bound in thy adamantine chain 

The proud are taught to taste of pain, 

And purple tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 



THIRD 189 

When first thy Sire to send on earth 
Virtue, his darhng child, design'd, 

To thee he gave the heavenly birth 
And bade to form her infant mind. 

Stern, rugged nurse ; thy rigid lore 

With patience many a year she bore ; 

What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 
And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing F^olly's idle Vjrood, 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good, 
light they disperse, and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
By vain Prosperity received. 
To her they vow their truth, and are again believeds 

Wisdom in sable garb array'd 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 
And Melancholy, silent maid. 

With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 
Still on thy solem.n steps attend : 
Warm Charity, the general friend. 
With Justice, to herself severe. 
And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 

Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head 

Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 

Nor circled with the vengeful band 
(As by the impious thou art seen) 
With thundering voice, and threatening mien, 
With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty ; — 
Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear. 

Thy milder influence impart, 
Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive, 
Teach me to love and to forgive, 
Exact my own defects to scan, 
What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. 

T. Gray 



J90 BOOK 



ecu 



THE SOLITUDE OF 
ALEXANDER SELKIRK 

I am monarch of all I survey ; 
My right there is none to dispute ; 
From the centre all round to the sea 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 
'Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech ; 
I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 
My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man, 
Their tameness is shocking to me. 

Society, Friendship, and Love 
Divinely bestow'd upon man, 
Oh, had I the wings of a dove 
How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 
In the ways of religion and truth. 
Might learn from the wisdom of age. 
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 

Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more : 

My friends, do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me ? 

O tell me I yet have a friend. 

Though a friend I am never to see. 



THIRD 191 

How fleet is a glance of the mind I 
Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 
And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land 
In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But alas ! recollection at hand 
Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 
The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest. 
And I to my cabin repair. 
There's mercy in every place, 
And mercy, encouraging thought ! 
Gives even affliction a grace 
And reconciles man to his lot. 

M^. Cowper 



CCIII 

TO MARY UNWIN 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, 

Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they 

drew, 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
And undebased by praise of meaner things, 

That ere through age or woe T shed my wings 
I may record thy worth with honour due. 
In verse as musical as thou art true, 
And that immortalizes whom it sings : — 

But thou hast little need. There is a Book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 

A chronicle of actions just and bright — 
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; 
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. 

W. Cowpef 



J92 BOOK 



TO THE SAME 

The twentieth year is well-nigh past 
Since first our sky was overcast ; 
Ah would that this might be the last ! 
My Mary ! 

Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
I see thee daily weaker grow — 
'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 
My Mary ! 

Thy needles, once a shining store, 
For my sake restless heretofore, 
Now rust disused, and shine no more ; 
My Mary ! 

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
My Mary ! 

But well thou play'st the housewife's part, 
And al) thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart, 
My Mary ! 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language utter'd in a dream ; 
Yet me they charm, whatever the theme, 
My Mary \ 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 
My Mary ! 

For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 
My Mary ! 



THIRD 1^ 

Partakers of thy sad decline 
Thy hands their little force resign ; 
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 
My Mary ! 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
That now at every step thou mov'st 
Upheld by two ; yet still thou lov'st, 
My Mary ! 

And still to love, though prest with ill. 
In wintry age to feel no chill. 
With me is to be lovely still. 
My Mary ! 

But ah ! by constant heed I know 
How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
>My Mary ! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 
My Mary ! 

IV. Cowper 



ccv 

THE CASTAWAY 

Obscurest night involved the sky, 
The Atlantic billows roar'd. 

When such a destined wretch as I, 
Wash'd headlong from on board. 

Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. 

His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast 
Than he with whom he went, 

Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
With warmer wishes sent. 

He loved them both, but both in vain, 

Nor him beheld, nor her again. 



194 BOOK 

Not long ])eneath the whelming brine, 

Expert to swim, he lay ; 
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 

Or courage die away ; 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted : nor his friends had fail'd 
To check the vessel's course, 

But so the furious blast prevail'd, 
That, pitiless perforce. 

They left their outcast mate behind, 

And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succour yet they could afford ; 

And such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delay'd not to bestow. 
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shorC; 
Whate'er they gave, should visit more,' 

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 
Their haste himself condemn. 

Aware that flight, in such a sea. 
Alone could rescue them ; 

Yet bitter felt it still to die 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self-upheld ; 
And so long he, with unspent power, 

His destiny repell'd ; 
And ever, as the minutes flew, 
Entreated help, or cried ' Adieu ! ' 

At length, his transient respite past, 
His comrades, who before 

Had heard his voice in every blast, 
Could catch the sound no more ; 

For then, by toil subdued, he drank 

The stifling wave, and then he sank. 



THIRD 195 

No poet wept him ; but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 
That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson's tear : 
And tears by bards or heroes shed 
Alike immortalize the dead. 
I therefore purpose not, or dream, 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date : 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 
No voice divine the storm allay'd, 

No light propitious shone, 
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid. 

We perish'd, each alone : 
But I beneath a rougher sea. 
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 

IV. Cowper 



TOMORROW 

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining, 

May my fate no less fortunate be 
Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining, 

And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; 
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, 

While I carol away idle sorrcw. 
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn 

Look forward with hope for Tomorrow. 
With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade 
too. 

As the sunshine or rain may prevail ; 
And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade 
too, 

With a barn for the use of the flail : 
A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, 

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; 
I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame. 

Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow. 
O 2 



196 BOOK THIRD 

From the bleak northern^ blast may my cot be com. 
pletely 

Secured by a neighbouring hill ; 
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly 

By the sound of a murmuring rill : 
And while peace and plenty I find at my board, 

With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, 
With my friends may I share what Today may afford, 

And let them spread the table Tomorrow. 

And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring 

\Vhich I've worn for three-score years and ten, 
On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep 
hov'ring. 

Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again : 
But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey. 

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow ; 
As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare Today 

May become Everlasting Tomorrow. 

/. Collins 



Life ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part ; 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me's a secret yet. 

Life ! we've been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; 
— Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time ; 

Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter 
clime 

Bid me Good Morning. 

A. L, Barbauld 






CCVIII 

TO THE MUSES 

Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
Or in the chambers of the East, 

The chambers of the sun, that now 
From ancient melody have ceased ; 

Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, 
Or the green corners of the earth, 

Or the blue regions of the air. 

Where the melodious winds have birth 

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 
Beneath the bosom of the sea. 

Wandering in many a coral grove, — 
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry ; 

How have you left the ancient love 
That bards of old enjoy 'd in you ! 

The languid strings do scarcely move, 
The sound is forced, the notes are feWc 
W. Blake 

CCIX 

ODE ON THE POETS 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Have ye souls in heaven too, 
Double-lived in regions new ? 



198 BOOK 

— Yes, and those of heaven commune 
With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
With the noise of fountains wond'rous 
And the parle of voices thund'rous ; 
With the whisper of heaven's trees 
And one another, in soft ease 
Seated on Elysian lawns 
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
Underneath large ]:)lue-bells tented, 
Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
And the rose herself has got 
Perfume which on earth is not ; 
Where the nightingale doth sing 
Not a senseless, tranced thing, 
But divine melodious truth ; 
Philosophic numbers smooth ; 
Tales and golden histories 
Of heaven and its mysteries. 

Thus ye live on high, and then 
On the earth ye live again ; 
And the souls ye left behind you 
Teach us, here, the w?y to find you, 
Where your other souls are joying, 
Never slumber'd never cloying. 
Here, your earth-born souls still speak 
To mortals, of their little week ; 
Of their sorrows and delights ; 
Of their passions and their spites ; 
Of their glory and their shame ; 
What doth strengthen and what maim 
Thus ye teach us, every day, 
Wisdom, though fled far away. 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
Ye have souls in heaven too. 
Double-lived in regions new ! 

/. Keats 



FOURTH 199 



ccx 

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN S 
HOMER 

Much have I travell'd in the reahns of gold 
^Lnd many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
Round many western islands have I been 
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne : 

V"et did I never breathe its pure serene 

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : 

— Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 

He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 

J. Keats 



CCXI 

LOVE 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When mid-way on the mount I lay, 
Beside the ruin'd tower. 

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
My own dear Genevieve ! 



200 BOOK 

She lean'd against the armed man, 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listen'd to my lay, 
Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

I play'd a soft and doleful air, 
I sang an old and moving story — 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 

She listen'd with a flitting blush. 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
For well she knew, I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he woo'd 
The Lady of the Land. 

I told her how he pined : and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love 
Interpreted my own. 

She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
And she forgave me, that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face ! 

But when I told the cruel scorn 
That crazed that bold and lovely Knighl 
And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den. 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade, — 



FOURTH 

There came and look'd him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright ; 
And that he knew it was a Fiend. 
This miserable Knight ! 

And that unknowing what he did, 
He leap'd amid a murderous band, 
And saved from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ; — 

And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees j 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 

And that she nursed him in a cave, 
And how his madness went away. 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay ; — 

His dying words — but when I reach'd 
That tender est strain of all the ditty, 
My faltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturb'd her soul wdth pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve ; 
The music and the doleful tale. 
The rich and balmy eve ; 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An undistingLiishable throng. 
And gentle wishes long subdued, 
Subdued and cherish'd long ! 

She wept with pity and delight, 
She blush'd with love, and virgin shame ; 
And like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved — she stepp'd aside, 
As conscious of my look she stept — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
She fled to me and wept. 



202 BOOK 

She half inclosed me with her arms, 
She press'd me with a meek embrace ; 
And bending back her head, look'd up, 
And gazed upon my face. 

'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
And partly 'twas a bashful art 
That I might rather feel, than see, 
The swelling of her heart. 

I calm'd her fears, and she was calm 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous Bride. 

S. T. Coleridge 

CCXII 

ALL FOR LOVE 

talk not to me of a name great in story ; 

The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; 
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is 
wrinkled ? 

'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew be- 
sprinkled : 

Then away with all such from the head that is 
hoary — 

What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ? 

Oh fame ! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, 
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. 

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ; 
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; 
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my 
story, 

1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 

Lord Byron 



FOURTH 203 



CCXIII 

THE OUTLAW 

Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
And Greta woods are green, 

And you may gather garlands there 

Would grace a summer-queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-Hall 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A Maiden on the castle-wall 

Was singing merrily : 
* O Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen.' 

' If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tower and town. 
Thou first must guess what life lead we 

That dwell by dale and down. 
And if thou canst that riddle read. 

As read full well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 

As blithe as Queen of May.' 
Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen. 

' I read you, by your bugle-horn 
And by your palfrey good, 

1 read you for a ranger sworn 

To keep the king's greenwood.' 
'■ A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry morn, 

And mine at dead of night.' 
Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there 

To reign his Queen of May ! 



204 BOOK 

' With burnish' d brand and rnusketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon 

That lists the tuck of drum.' 

* I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum 

My comrades take the spear. 
And O ! though Brignall banks be fail 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

* Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I'll die ; 
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I'm with my comrades met 

Beneath the greenwood bough, — 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now.' 

Chorus 

' Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
And Greta woods are green, 

And you may gather garlands there 
Would grace a summer-queen.' 

Sir W. Scott 



ccxiv 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 

With a magic like Thee ; 
And like music on the waters 

Is thy sweet voice to me : 
When, as if its sound were causing 
The charmed ocean's pausing, 
The waves lie still and gleaming. 
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming : 



FOURTH 20S 

And the midnight moon is weaving 
Her bright chain o'er the deep, 

Whose breast is gently heaving 
As an infant's asleep : 

So the spirit bows before thee 

To listen and adore thee ; 

With a full but soft emotion, 

Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 
Lord Byron 

ccxv yL^ 

THE INDIAN SERENADE 

I arise from dreams of Thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night. 
When the winds are breathing low 
And the stars are shining bright : 
I arise from dreams of thee, 
And a spirit in my feet 
Hath led me— who knows how? 
To thy chamber-window, Sweet ! 

The wandering airs they faint 
On the dark, the silent stream— 
The champak odours fail 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart, 
As I must die on thine 

beloved as thou art I 

Oh lift me from the grass ! 

1 die, I faint, I fail ! 

Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alas \ 
My heart beats loud and fast ; 
Oh ! press it close to thine again 
Where it will break at last. 

P. B. Shelley 



2o6 BOOK 



She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 
Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impair'd the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o'er her face. 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek and o'er that brow- 
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow 
But tell of days in goodness spent. — 
A mind at peace with all below, 
A heart whose love is innocent. 

Lord Byron 



She was a Phantom of delight 
When first she gleam'd up^n my sight ; 
A lovely Apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament ; 
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; 
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; 
A dancing shape, an image gay. 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin-liberty ; 



FOURTH 207 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 

A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food, 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveller between life and death : 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd 
To warn, to comfort, and command *, 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel-light. 

W. Wo7-dsworth 



She is not fair to outward view 

As many maidens be ; 
Her loveliness I never knew 

Until she smiled on me. 
O then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold, 

To mine they ne'er reply. 
And yet I cease not to behold 

The love-light in her eye : 
Her veiy frowns are fairer far 
Than smiles of other maidens are. 

H. Coleridge 



2o8 BOOK 



I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ; 
Thou needest not fear mine ; 
My spirit is too deeply laden 
Ever to burthen thine. 

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion 
Thou needest not fear mine ; 
Innocent is the heart's devotion 
With which I worship thine. 

P. B. Shelley 



ccxx 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove ; 
A maid whom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love. 

A violet by a mossy stone 

Half-hidden from the eye ! 
— Fair as a star, when only one 

Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh, 

The difference to me ! 

W. Wordsworth 



I travell'd among unknown men 
In lands beyond the sea ; 

Nor, England ! did I know till then 
What love I bore to thee. 



FOURTH 209 

'Tis past, that melancholy dream ! 

Nor will I quit thy shore 
A second time ; for still I seem 

To love thee more and more. 

Among thy mountains did I feel 

The joy of my desire ; 
And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel 

Beside an English fire. 

Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'c 
The bowers where Lucy play'd ; 

And thine too is the last green field 
That Lucy's eyes survey'd. 

iV. Woi'dswofth 



CCXXII 

THE EDUCATION OF NATURE 

i'hree years she grew in sun and shower ; 

Then Nature said, ' A lovelier flower 

On earth was never sown : 

This Child I to myself will take ; 

She shall be mine, and I will make 

A lady of my own. 

' Myself will to my darling be 

Both law and impulse : and with me 

The girl, in rock and plain, 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 

Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 

* She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs ; 
And her's shall be the breathing balm, 
And her's the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate things. 
P 



2IO BOOK 

' The floating clouds their state shall lend 

To her ; for her the willow bend ; 

Nor shall she fail to see 

Ev'n in the motions of the storm 

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 

By silent sympathy. 

' The stars of midnight shall be dear 

To her ; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 

And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 

' And vital feelings of delight 

Shall rear her form to stately height, 

Her virgin bosom swell ; 

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 

While she and I together live 

Here in this happy dell.' 

Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 

How soon my Lucy's race was run I 

She died, and left to me 

This heathj this calm and quiet scene ; 

The memory of what has been. 

And never more will be. 

M^. Wordsworth 



CCXXIII 

A slumber did my spirit seal ; 

I had no human fears : 
She seem'd a thing that could not feel 

The touch of earthly years. 

No motion has she now, no force ; 

She neither hears nor sees ; 
Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course 

With rocks, and stones, and trees. 

W. Wordsworth 



FOURTH 211 



A LOST LOVE 



I meet thy pensive, moonlight face ; 

Thy thrilling voice I hear ; 
And former hours and scenes retrace, 

Too fleeting, and too dear ! 

Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, 

Though none is nigh to share ; 
And life has nought beside for me 

So sweet as this despair. 

There are crush'd hearts that will not break ; 

And mine, methinks, is one ; 
Or thus I should not weep and wake, 

And thou to slumber gone. 

I little thought it thus could be 

In days more sad and fair — 
That earth could have a place for me, 

And thou no longer there. 

Yet death cannot our hearts divide, 

Or make thee less my own : 
'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side 

Than watching here alone. 

Yet never, never can we part. 
While Memory holds her reign : 

Thine, thine is still this wither'd heart, 
Till we shall meet again. 

H. F. Lyte 



ccxxv 

LORD UL LIN'S DAUGHTER 

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 
Cries ' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
And I'll give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry ! ' 

P 2 



BOOK 

* Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ? ' 

' O I'm the chief of tjlva's isle, 
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter 

' And fast before her father's men 
Three days we've fled together, 
For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 

' His horsemen hard behind us ride — 
Should they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride, 
When they have slain her lover ? ' 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 

* I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : 
It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady : — 

' And by my word ! the bonny bird 
In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though the waves are raging white 
I'll row you o'er the ferry.' 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 
The water- wraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of Heaven each face 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind. 
And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown the glen rode armed men, 
Their trampling sounded nearer. 

* O haste thee, haste ! ' the lady cries, 
' Though tempests round us gather ; 
I'll meet the raging of the skies, 

But not an angry father.' 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 

When, oh ! too strong for human hand 

The tempest gather'd o'er her. 



FOURTH 213 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 
Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — 
His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade 
His child he did discover ■; — 
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, 
And one was round her lover. 

' Come back ! cc.r.e back ! ' he cried in grief 
' Across this stormy water : 
And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 
My daughter ! — Oh, my daughter ! ' 



Return or aid preventing : 

The waters wild went o'er his child. 

And he was left lamenting. 

T. Campbell 

ccxxvi 

LUCY GRAY 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray : 
And when I cross'd the wild, 
I chanced to see at break of day 
The solitary child. 

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; 
She dwelt on a wide moor, 
The sweetest thinf that ever grew 
Beside a human door ! 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 
The hare upon the green ; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
Will never more be seen. 

* To-night will be a stormy night — - 
You to the town must go ; 
And take a lantern, Child, to light 
Your mother through the snow.' 



214 BOOK 

' That, Father ! will I gladly do : 
'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
The minster-clock has just struck twoj 
And yonder is the moon ! ' 

At this the father raised his hook, 
And snapp'd a faggot-band ; 
He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 
The lantern in her hand. 

Not blither is the mountain roe : 
With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time : 
She wander'd up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb : 
But never reach'd the town. 

The wretclied parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide ; 
But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At day-break on a hill they stood 
That overlook'd the moor ; 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood 
A furlong from their door. 

They wept — and, turning homeward, cried 
' In heaven we all shall meet ! ' 
— When in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 

Then downwards from the sleep hill's edge 
They track'd the footmarks small ; 
And through the broken hawthorn hedge. 
And by the long stone- wall : 

And then an open field they cross'd : 
The marks were still the same ; 
They track'd them on, nor ever lost ; 
And to the bridge they came : 



FOURTH 215 

They follow'd from the snowy bank 
Those footmarks, one by one, 
Into the middle of the plank ; 
And further there were none ! 

— Yet some maintain that to this day 
She is a living child ; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 
And never looks behind ; 
And sings a solitary song 
That whistles in the wind. 

W. Wordsworth 



CCXXVII 

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 

* Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son. 

And ye sail be his bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

* Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

* A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair. 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 



2i6 BOOK 

And you the foremost o' them a* 
Shall ride our forest-queen ' — 

But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The k>rk was deck'd at morning-tide, 

The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. 

And dame and knight are there : 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 

The ladie was not seen ! 
She's o'er the Border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Ilazeldean. 

Sir W. Scott 



CCXXVIII 

LOVES PHILOSOPHY 

The fountains mingle with the river 
And the rivers with the ocean, 
The winds of heaven mix for ever 
With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single, 
All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle — 
Why not I with thine ? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven. 
And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister-flower would be forgiven 
If it disdain'd its brother : 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
And the moonbeams kiss the sea— 
What are all these kissings worth. 
If thou kiss not me ? 

P. £. Sheuey 



FOURTH 217 



CCXXIX 

ECHOES 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 
To Music at night 

When, roused by hite or horn, she wakes, 
And far away o'er lawns and lakes 
Goes answering light ! 

Yet I>ove hath echoes truer far 

And far more sweet 

Than e'er, bensath the moonlight's star, 

Of horn or lute or soft guitar 

The songs repeat. 

'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere 
And only then. 

The sigh that's breathed for one to hear — 
Is by that one, that only Dear 
Breathed back again. 

T. Moo7-e 



ccxxx 

A SERENADE 

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh. 

The sun has left the lea. 
The orange-flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day. 

Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour. 

But where is County Guy ? 

The village maid steals through the shade 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To Beauty shy, by lattice high, 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 



2i8 BOOK 

The star of Love, all stars above, 
Now reigns o'er earth and sky, 

And high and low the influence know- 
But where is County Guy ? 

Si7' IV. Scoti 



ccxxxi 

TO THE EVENING STAR 

Gem of the crimsom-colour'd Even, 
Companion of retiring day, 
Why at the closing gates of heaven, 
Beloved Star, dost thou delay ? 

So fair thy pensile beauty burns 
When soft the tear of twilight flows ; 
So due thy plighted love returns 
To chambers brighter than the rose ; 

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love 
So kind a star thou seem'st to be, 
Sure some enamour'd orb above 
Descends and burns to meet with thee. 

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour 
When all unheavenly passions fly, 
Chased by the soul-subduing power 
Of Love's delicious witchery. 

O ! sacred to the fall of day 
Queen of propitious stars, appear. 
And early rise, and long delay. 
When Caroline herself is here ! 

Shine on her chosen green resort 
Whose trees the sunward summit crown, 
And wanton flowers, that well may court 
An angel's feet to tread them down : — 

Shine on her sweetly scented road 
Thou star of evening's purple dome. 
That lead'st the nightingale abroad. 
And guid'st the pilgrim to his home- 



FOURTH 219 

Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath 
Embalms the soft exhaling dew, 
Where dying winds a sigh bequeath 
To kiss the cheek of rosy hue : — 

Where, winnow'd by the gentle air, 
Her silken tresses darkly flow 
And fall upon her brow so fair. 
Like shadows on the mountain snow. 

Thus, ever thus, at day's decline 
In converse sweet to wander far — 
O bring with thee my Caroline, 
And thou shalt be my Ruling Star ! 

T. Ca7npbell 



CCXXXII 

TO THE NIGHT 

Swiftly walk over the western wave, 

Spirit of Night ! 
Out of the misty eastern cave 
Where, all the long and lone daylight, 
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
Which make thee terrible and dear, — 

Swift be thy flight ! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray 

Star-inwrought ; 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
Kiss her until she be wearied out : 
Then wander o'er city and sea and land, 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 

Come, long-sought ! 

When 1 arose and saw the dawn, 

I sigh'd for thee ; 
When light rode high, and the dew was ; 
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest 
Lingering like an unloved guest, 
I sigh'd for thee. 



BOOK 

Thy brother Death came, and cried 
Wouldst thou me ? 

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 

Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee 

Shall I nestle near thy side ? 

Wouldst thou me ? — And I replied 
No, not thee ! 

Death will come when thou art dead, 

Soon, too soon — 
Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
Of neither would I ask the boon 
1 ask of thee, beloved Night — 
Swift be thine approaching flight, 
Come soon, soon ! 

P. B. Shelley 



CCXXXIII 

TO A DISTANT FRIEND 

Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant 
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 
Bound to thy service with unceasing care — 
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
For nought but what thy happiness could spare. 

Speak ! — though this soft warm heart, once free to 

hold 
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 

Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know ! 

W. Wordsworth 



FOURTH 



When we two parted 

In silence and tears, 

Half broken-hearted, 

To sever for years, 

Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 

Colder thy kiss ; 

Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to th's ! 

The dew of the morning 
Sunk chill on my brow ; 
It felt like the warning 
Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken, 
And light is thy fame : 
I hear thy name spoken 
And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 
A knell to mine ear ; 
A shudder comes o'er me — 
Why wert thou so dear ? 
They know not I knew thee 
Who knew thee too well : 
Long, long shall I rue thee, 
Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met : 

In silence I grieve 

That thy heart could forget, 

Thy spirit deceive. 

If I should meet thee 

After long years, 

How should I greet thee ? — 

With silence and tears. 

Lord Byron 



222 BOOK 



ccxxxv 

HAPPY INSENSIBILITY 

In a drear-nighted December, 

Too happy, happy tree. 

Thy branches ne'er remember 

Their green felicity : 

The north cannot undo them 

With a sleety whistle through them 

Nor frozen thawings glue them 

From budding at the prime. 

In a drear-nighted December, 
Too happy, happy brook, 
Thy bubblings ne'er remember 
Apollo's summer look ; 
But with a sweet forgetting 
They stay their crystal fretting, 
Never, never petting 
About the frozen time. 

Ah ! would 'twere so with many 
A gentle girl and boy ! 
But were there ever any 
Writhed not at passed joy ? 
To know the change and feel it, 
When there is none to heal it 
Nor numbed sense to steal it — 
Was never said in rhyme. 

J, Keats 



CCXXXVI 

Where shall the lover rest 
Whom the fates sever 

From his true maiden's breast 
Parted for ever ? 



FOURTH 223 



Where, through groves deep and high 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die 

Under the willow. 
Eleti loro 

Soft shall be his pillow. 

There through the summer day 

Cool streams are laving : 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There thy rest shalt thou take. 

Parted for ever, 
Never again to wake 

Never, O never ! 
Eleu loro 

Never, never! 

Where shall the traitor rest, 

He, the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin, and leave her ? 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying ; 
Eleu loro 

There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the falsehearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap 

Ere life be parted : 

Shame and dishonour sit 

By his grave ever ; 

Blessing shall hallow it 
Never, O never ! 

Elezi loro 
Never ^ never ! 

Sir W. Scott 



224 _ BOOK^^ 

Y CCXXXVII 



LA BELLE DAME SANS MERC I 

' O what can ail thee, knight-at-aniis, 

Alone and palely loiteiing? 
The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 

And no birds sing. 

* O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 

So haggard and so woe-begone ? 
The squirrel's granary is full, 
And the harvest's done. 

* I see a lily on thy brow 

With anguish moist and fever-dew, 
And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
Fast withereth too.' 

' I met a lady in the meads, 
Full beautiful — a faery's child, 

Her hair was long, her foot was light, 
And her eyes were wild. 

' I made a garland for her head. 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 

She look'd at me as she did iove, 
And made sweet moan. 

' I ^et her on my pacing steed 

And nothing else saw all day long, 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
A faery's song. 

' She found me roots of relish sweet. 
And honey wild and manna-dew, 

And sure in language strange she said 
" I love thee true." 

' She took me to her elfin grot, 

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore ; 
And there I shut her wild wild eyes 

With kisses four. 



FOURTH 225 

'And there she lulled me asleep, 
And there I dream'd — Ah I woe betide ! 

The latest dream I ever dream'd 
On the cold hill's side. 

' I saw pale kings and princes too, 

Pale warriors, death -pale were they all : 

They cried — " La belle Dame sans Merci 
Hath ihee in thrall I " 

' 1 saw their starved lips in the gleam 

With horrid warning gaped wide, 
And I awoke and found me here 

On the cold hill's side. 

' And this is why I sojourn here 

Alone and palely loitering. 
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake; 

And no birds sing.' 

/. Keats 



ccxxxvni 
THE ROVER 

A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine I 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine. 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green — 

No more of me vou knew 
^iy Love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

' This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 
. Ere we two meet again.' 



226 BOOK 

He turn'd his charger as he spake 

Upon the river shore, 
He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 
Said ' Adieu for evermore 
My Love ! 
And adieu for evermore.' 

Sir W. Scott 



ccxxxix 

THE FLIGHT OF LOVE 

When the lamp is shatter'd 
The light in the dust lies dead — 
When the cloud is scatter'd, 
The rainbow's glory is shed. 
When the lute is broken, 
Sw^eet tones are remeinber'd not ; 
When the lips have spoken. 
Loved accents are soon forgot. 

As music and splendour 

Survive not the lamp and the lute, 

The heart's echoes render 

No song when the spirit is mute — 

No song but sad dirges, 

Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, 

Or the mournful surges 

That ring the dead seaman's knell. 

When hearts have once mingled, 

Love first leaves the well-built nest ; 

The weak one is singled 

To endure what it once possesst. 

O Love ! who bewailest 

The frailty of all things here, 

Why choose you the frailest 

For your cradle, your home, and your bier ? 



FOURTH 227 

Its passions will rock thee 

As the storms rock the ravens on high ; 

Bright reason will mock thee 

Like the sun from a wintr>' sky. 

From thy nest every rafter 

Will rot, and thine eagle home 

Leave thee naked to laughter, 

When leaves fall and cold winds come. 

P. B. Shelley 



CCXL 
THE MAID OF NEW PATH 

O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
And love, in life's extremity. 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower 

And slow decay from mourning. 
Though now she sits on Neidpath'^ tower 

To watch her Love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 

Her form decay'd by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand, at night. 

You saw the taper shining. 
By fits a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was flying ; 
By fits so ashy pale she grew 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 

Seem'd in her frame residing ; 
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear 

She heard her lover's riding ; 
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd 

She knew and M^aved to greet him, 
And o'er the battlement did bend 

As on the wing to meet him. 
Q 2 



228 BOOK 

He came — he pass'd — an heedless gaze 

As o'er some stranger glancing ; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase. 

Lost in his courser's prancing — 
The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken, 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 

Which told her heart was broken. 

S/r If. Si on 



Earl March look'd on his dying child, 
And, smit with grief to view her — 

The youth, he cried, whom I exiled 
Shall be restored to woo her. 

She's at the window many an hour 

His coming to discover : 
And he look'd up to Ellen's bower 

And she look'd on her lover — 

But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 

Though her smile on him was dwelling— 

And am I then forgot — forgot ? 
It broke the heart of Ellen. 

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, 

Her cheek is cold as ashes ; 
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 

To lift their silken lashes. 

T. Campbell 



Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art- 
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, 
And watching, with eternal lids apart. 
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 



FOURTH 229 

The moving waters at their priestlike task 
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, 
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask 
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors :— > 

No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; 

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. 
J. Keats 



THE TERROR OF DEATH 

When I have fears that I may cease to be 
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, 
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry 
Hold like rich garners the fuU-ripen'd grain ; 

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance. 

And think that I may never live to trace 

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance A 

And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour ! ' 

That I shall never look upon thee more, 
Never have relish in the faery power 
Of unreflecting love — then on the shore 

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 

Keats 



230 BOOK 



CCXLIV 

DESIDERIA 

Surprized by joy — impatient as the wind--> 
I turn'd to share the transport — Oh ! with whom 
But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, 
That spot which no vicissitude can find ? 

Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind — 
But how could I forget thee ? Through what power 
Even for the least division of an hour 
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind 

To my most grievous loss ! — That thought's return 
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore 
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, 

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; 
That neither present time, nor years unborn 
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 

W. Wordsworth 



CCXLV 

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, 

I fly 
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in 

thine eye ; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions 

of air 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to 

me there 
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky ! 

Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear 
When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on 

the ear ; 
And as Echo far off through the vale my sari orison 

rolls. 



FOURTH 2S\ 

I think, oh my Love ! 'tis thy voice, from the King- 
dom of Souls 

Faintly answering still the notes that once vtere so 
dear. 

T. Moore 



^PjL-'^'-vL- 



ELEGY ON THYRZA 



And thou art dead, as young and fair 

As aught of mortal birth ; 
And forms so soft and charms so rare 

Too soon returned to Earth ! 
Though Earth received them in her bed, 
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 

In carelessness or mirth, 
There is an eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look. 

I will not ask where thou liest low 

Nor gaie upon the spot ; 
There flowers or weeds at will may grow 

So I behold them not : 
It is enough for me to prove 
That what I loved, and long must love, 

Like common earth can rot ; 
To me there needs no stone to tell 
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 

Yet did I love thee to the last, 

As fervently as thou 
Who didst not change through all the past 

And canst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal 
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 

Nor falsehood disavow : 
And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 



232 BOOK 

The better days of life were ours ; 

The worst can be but mine : 
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours. 

Shall never more be thine. 
The silence of that dreamless sleep 
I envy now too much to weep ; 

Nor need I to repine 
That all those charms have pass'd away 
I might have watch'd through long decay 

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 

Must fall the earliest prey ; 
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, 

The leaves must drop away. 
And yet it were a greater grief 
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, 

Than see it pluck'd today ; 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the change to foul from fair. 
I know not if I could have borne 

To see thy beauties fade ; 
The night that follow'd such a morn 

Had worn a deeper shade : 
Thy day without a cloud hath past, 
And thou wert lovely to the last, 

Extinguish'd, not decay'd ; 
As stars that shoot along the sky 
Shine brightest as they fall from high. 

As once I wept, if I could weep. 

My tears might well be shed 
To think I was not near, to keep 

One vigil o'er thy bed : 
To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, 
To fold thee in a faint embrace. 

Uphold thy drooping head ; 
And show that love, however vain, 
Nor thou nor I can feel again. 

Yet how much less it were to gain, 
Though thou hast left me free. 

The loveliest things that still remain 
Than thus remember thee ! 



FOURTH 233 

The all of thine that cannot die 
Through dark and dread Eternity- 
Returns again to me, 
And more thy buried love endears 
Than aught except its living years. 

Lord Byron 



One word is too often profaned 

For me to profane it, 
One feeling too falsely disdain'd 

For thee to disdain it. 
One hope is too like despair 

For prudence to smother, 
And pity from thee more dear 

Than that from another. 

I can give not what men call love ; 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart lifts above 

And the Heavens reject not : 
The desire of the moth for the star, 

Of the night for the morrow. 
The devotion to something afar 

From the sphere of our sorrow ? 

P. B. Shelley 



CCXLVIII 



/^ 



>^ 



GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE 
BLACK 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 

Pibroch of Donuil 
Wake thy wild voice anew, ^ 

Summon Clan Conuil. 



234 BOOK 

Come away, come away, 
Hark to the summons I 

Come in your war-array, 
Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky ; 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlocky. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one, 
Come every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one 

Leave untended the herd. 

The flock without shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer. 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended. 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come, 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 

Forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 

Knell for the onset ! 

Sir IV. Scott 



FOURTH 



CCXLIX 



235 



l^p.^^^-^: 



A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

A wind that follows fast 
And fills the white and rustling sail 

And bends the gallant mast ; 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 

While like the eagle free 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

O for a soft and gentle wind ! 

I heard a fair one cry ; 
But give to me the snoring breeze 

And white waves heaving high ; 
And white waves heaving high, my lads, 

The good ship tight and free — 
The world of waters is our home. 

And merry men are we. 

There's tempest in yon horned moon, 

And lightning in yon cloud ; 
But hark the music, mariners ! 

The wind is piping loud ; 
The wind is piping loud, my boys. 

The lightning flashes free — 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

A. Cunningham 



CCL 



|2^ 



Ye Mariners of England 

That guard our native seas ! 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 

The battle and the breeze ! 

Your glorious standard launch again 

To match another foe : 



236 BOOK 

And sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy winds do blow ; 
While the battle rages loud and long 
And the stormy winds do blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 
Shall start from every wave — 
For the deck it was their field of fame, 
And Ocean was their grave : 
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
Your manly hearts shall glow, 
As ye sweep through the deep. 
While the stormy winds do blow ; 
While the battle rages loud and long 
And the stormy winds do blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep ; 

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves. 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak ■ 

She quells the floods below — 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy winds do blow ; 

When the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

The meteor flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn ; 
Till danger's troubled night depart 
And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 
Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name. 
When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
And the storm has ceased to blow. 

T. Campbell 



FOURTH 23? 



CCLI 

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 



fLP-^ 



Of Nelson and the North 

Sing the glorious day's renown, 

When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown, 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 

By each gun the lighted brand 

In a bold determined hand, 

And the Prince of all the land 

Led them on. 

Like leviathans afloat 

Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line : 

It was ten of April morn by the chime : 

As they drifted on their path 

There was silence deep as death ; 

And the boldest held his breath 

For a time. 

But the might of England flush'd 

To anticipate the scene ; 

And her van the fleeter rush'd 

O'er the deadly space between. 

' Hearts of oak ! ' our captains cried, when each gun 

From its adamantine lips 

Spread a death-shade round the ships, 

Like the hurricane eclipse 

Of the sun. 

Again ! again ! again ! 

And the havoc did not slack, 

Pill a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back ; — 

Their shots along the deep slowly boom 3 — 

Then ceased — and all is wail, 

As they strike the shatter'd sail ; 

Or in conflagration pale 

Light the gloom. 



238 BOOK 

Out spoke the victor then 

As he hail'd them o'er the wave, 

' Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 

And we conquer but to save : — 

So peace instead of death let us bring : 

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet 

With the crews, at England's feet, 

And make submission meet 

To our King.' 

Then Denmark bless'd our chief 

That he gave her wounds repose .: 

And the sounds of joy and grief 

From her people wildly rose, 

As death withdrew his shades from the day i 

While the sun look'd smiling bright 

O'er a wide and woeful sight. 

Where the fires of funeral light 

Died away. 

Now joy, old England, raise ! 
For the tidings of thy might, 
By the festal cities' blaze, 
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light •. 
And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
Let us think of them that sleep 
Full many a fathom deep 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore ! 

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 

Once so faithful and so true, 

On the deck of fame that died, 

With the gallant good Riou : 

Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave 2 

While the billow mournful rolls 

And the mermaid's song condoles 

Singing -glory to the souls 

Of the hrsLve ! 

71 Cainpbell 



FOURTH 239 



CCLIT 

ODE TO DUTY 



Stern Daughter of the Voice of God ! 
O Duty ! if that name thou love 
Who art a Hght to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove ; 
Thou who art victory and lav;^ 
When empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations dost set free, 
A.nd cahn'st the weary strife of frail humanity \ 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot, 
Who do thy work, and know it not : 
Oh ! if through confidence misplaced 
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around theni 
cast. 

Serene will be our days and bright 
And happy will our nature be 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security. 
And they a blissful course may hold 
Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold, 
Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried, 
No sport of every random gust, 
Yet being to myself a guide, 
Too blindly have reposed my trust : 
And oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd 
The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 



240 BOOK 

Through no disturbance of my soul 
Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
I supplicate for thy controul, 
But in the quietness of thought : 
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires ; 
I feel the weight of chance-desires : 
My hopes no more must change their name ; 
I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face : 
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong ; 
And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, aie fresh 
and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful Power ! 
I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour ; 
Oh let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give ; 
A.nd in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live. 

W. Wordsworth 



CCLIII 

ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! 
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art. 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 
The heart which love of Thee alone can bind ; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd. 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 



FOURTH 241 

Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place 

And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, 

Until his very steps have left a trace 

Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 

L'^rd Byj-on 



ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1S02 

Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea, 
One of the Mountains ; each a mighty voice : 
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice. 
They were thy chosen music, Liberty ! 

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 
Thou fought'st against him, — but hast vainly striven 
Thou from thy x\lpine holds at length art driven, 
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 

— Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft ; 
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left — 
For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be 

That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore. 
And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee ! 

W. Wordsworth 



ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN 
REPUBLIC 

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 
And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth 
Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty. 
R 



242/' BOOK 

She was a maiden city, bright and free ; 
No guile seduced, no force could violate ; 
And when she took unto herself a mate,. 
She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 

And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — 
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 

When her long life hath reach'd its final day : 
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade 
Of that which once was great is pass'd away. 

W. Wordsworth 

CCLVI 

LONDON; 1802 

O Friend ! I know not which way I must look 

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest 

To think that now our life is only drest 

For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, 

Or groom ! — We must run glittering like a brook 
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 
The wealthiest man among us is the best : 
No grandeur now in nature or in book 

Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense. 
This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 
Plain living and high thinking are no more ; 

The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence. 
And pure religion breathing household law s. 

W. Wordswoj'th 



yYJiy<^ 



(. 



CCLVII 

THE SAME 



Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : 
England hath need of thee : she is a fen 
Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen. 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 




FOURTH 243 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men : 
Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 
And give us manners, viitue, freedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; 

So didst thou travel on life's common way 
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 
tV. Wordsworth 



CCLVIII 

When I have borne in memory what has tamed 
Great nations ; how ennobling thoughts depart 
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
The student's bower for gold, — some fears unnamed 

I had, my Country ! — am I to be blamed ? 
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, 
Verily, in the bottom of my heart 
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 

For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find 
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men ; 
And I by my affection was beguiled : 

What wonder if a Poet now and then, 
Among the many movements of his mind. 
Felt for thee as a lover or a child ! 

W. Wordsworth 



CCLIX 

HOHENLINDEN 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 



244 



BOOK 

But Linden saw another sight. 
When the drum beat at dead of night 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast array'd 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neigh'd 

To join the dreadful revelry. 
Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; 
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; 
And louder than the bolts of Heaven 

Far tlash'd the red artillery. 
But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow ; 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 

Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 

Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye Brave 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part, where many meet [ 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 

T. Campbell 

CCLX 

AFTER BLENHEIM 

It was a summer evening, 

Old Kaspar's work was done, 

And he before his cottage door 
Was sitting in the sun ; 

And by him sported on the green 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine, 



FOURTH 245 

She ^w her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round 

Which he beside the rivulet 
In playing there had found : 

He came to ask what he had found 

That was so large and smooth and round. 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy 

Who stood expectant by ; 
And then the old man shook his head, 

And with a natural sigh 
' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, 

* Who fell in the great victory. 

' I find them in the garden, 

For there's many here alDout ; 
And often when I go to plough 

The ploughshare turns them out. 
For many thousand men,' said he, 
'Were slain in that great victory.' 

' Now tell us what 'twas all about,' 

Young Peterkin he cries ; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes ; 

* Now tell us all about the war, 

And what they fought each other for. ' 

* It was the English,' Kaspar cried, 

' Who put the French to rout : 
But what they fought each other for 

I could not well make out. 
But everybody said,' quoth he, 
' That 'twas a famous victory. 

* My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground. 

And he was forced to fly : 
So with his wife and child he fled. 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 

* With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide 



246 BOOK 

And many a childing mother then 

And newborn baby died : 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

* They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won ; 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun : 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 

* Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won 

And our good Prince Eugene ; ' 

* Why 'twas a very wicked thing ! ' 

Said little Wilhelmine ; 

* Nay . . nay . . my little girl,' quoth he, 

* It was a famous victory, 

' And everybody praised the Duke 
Who this great fight did win.' 

* But what good came of it at last ? 

Quoth little Peterkin :— 

* Why that I cannot tell,' said he, 
' But 'twas a famous victory.' 

R, Soutkey 



CCLXI 
PRO PAT RI A MORI 

When he who adores thee has left but the name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign'd ! 
Yes, weep, and however my foes tnay condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 
For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 



FOURTH 247 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 

Every thought of my reason was thine : 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine ! 
Oh ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 

T. Moore 

CCLXII 

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 
AT CORUNNA 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corpse to the rampart we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell sh^t 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning ; 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his 
head. 
And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 

But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 



248 BOOK 

But half of our heavy task was done 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring : 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone. 
But we left him alone with his glory. 

C. Wolfe 



CCLXIII 

SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
An old man dwells, a little man, — 
'Tis said he once was tall. 
Full five-and- thirty years he lived 
A running huntsman merry ; 
And still the centre of his cheek 
Is red as a ripe cherry. 

No man like him the horn could sound. 

And hill and valley rang with glee, 

When Echo bandied, round and round, 

The halloo of Simon Lee. 

In those proud days he little cared 

For husbandry or tillage ; 

To blither tasks did Simon rouse 

The sleepers of the village. 

He all the country could outrun. 

Could leave both man and horse behind ; 

And often, ere the chase was done 

He reel'd and was stone-blind. 

And still there's something in the world 

At which his heart rejoices ; 

For when the chiming hounds are out, 

He dearly loves their voices. 



FOURTH 249 

But oh the heavy change I — bereft 

Of health, strength, friends and kindred, see 3 

Old Simon to the world is left 

In liveried poverty : — 

His master's dead, and no one now 

Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; 

Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; 

He is the sole survivor. 

And he is lean and he is sick. 

His body, dwindled and awry. 

Rests upon ankles swoln and thick ; 

His legs are thin and dry. 

One prop he has, and only one, — 

His wife, an aged woman. 

Lives with him, near the waterfall, 

Upon the village common. 

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, 

Noc twenty paces from the door, 

A scrap of land they have, but they 

Are poorest of the poor. 

This scrap of land he from the heath 

Enclosed when he was stronger ; 

But what to them avails the land 

Which he can till no longer ? 

Oft, working by her husband's side, 

Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; 

For she, with scanty cause for pride, 

Is stouter of the two. 

And, though you with your utmost skill 

From labour could not wean them, 

'Tis little, very little, all 

That they can do between them. 

Few months of life has he in store 
As he to you will tell. 
For still, the more he works, the more 
Do his weak ankles swell. 
My gentle Reader, I perceive 
How patiently you've waited, 
And now I fear that you expect 
Some tale will be related. 



{J 



250 BOOK 

O Reader ! had you in your mind 
Such stores as silent thou^j^ht can bring, 

gentle Reader ! you would find 
A tale in every thing. 

What more I have to say is short, 
And you must kindly take it : 
It is no tale ; but, should you think, 
Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 

One summer-day I chanced to see 
This old Man doing all he could 
To unearth the root of an old tree. 
A stump of rotten wood. 
The mattock totter'd in his hand ; 
So vain was his endeavour 
That at the root of the old tree 
He might have work'd for ever. 

' You're overtask'd, good Simon Lee, 
Give me your tool,' to him I said ; 
And at the word right gladly he 
Received my proffer'd aid. 

1 struck, and with a single blow 
The tangled root I sever'd, 

At which the poor old man so long 
And vainly had endeavour'd. 

The tears into his eyes were brought, 
And thanks and praises secm'd to run 
So fast out of his heart, I thought 
They never would have done. 
---I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deed 
With coldness still returning ; 
Alas ! the gratitude of men 
Hath oftener left me mourning. 

W. Wordsivoith 

CCLXIV 

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 

I have had playmates, I have had companions, 
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-dayst 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 



FOURTH 2S\ 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a Love once, fairest among women : 
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man : 
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; 
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, 
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, 
Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, 
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling ? 
So might we talk of the old familiar faces. 

How some they have died, and some they have left 

me, 
And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

C. Lamb 



THE JOURNEY ONWARDS 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 
So loth we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us ; 
So turn our hearts, as on we rove, 

To those we've left behind us ! 

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years 
We talk with joyous seeming — 

With smiles that might as well be tears, 
So faint, so sad their beaming ; 



252 BOOK 

While memory brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we've left behind us ! 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle or vale enchanting, 
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, 

And nought but love is wanting ; 
We think how great had been our bliss 

If Heaven had but a^^^^ign'd us 
To live and die in scenv^s like th' ■, 
/ With some we've left behi-' 1 us ! 

As travellers oft look back at eve 

When eastward darkly going. 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consign'd us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 

T. Moore 

CCLXVI 

YOUTH AND AGE 

There's not a joy the world can give like that it 

takes away 
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's 

dull decay ; 
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, 

which f..des so fast, 
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth 

itself be past. 

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of 

happiness 
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess : 
The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in 

vain 
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never 

stretch again. 



FOURTH 253 

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself 

comes down ; 
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its 

own ; 
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our 

tears, 
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the 

ice appears. 

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth 

distract the breast, 
Through midnight hours that yield no more their 

former hope of rest ; 
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, 
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and 

gray beneath. 

Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, 
Or weep as I could once have v^^ept o'er many a 

vanish'd scene, — 
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish 

though they be, 
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would 

flow to me ! 



Lord Byron 



CCLXVII 

A LESSON 



There _> a Flower, the lesser Celandine, 
That shrinks like many more from cold and rain, 
And the first moment tliat the sun may shine, 
Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again ! 

When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm 
Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, 
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm 
In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. 

But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past, 
And recognized it, though an alter'd form, 
Now standing forth an offering to the blast, 
And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 



254 600K 

I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, 

* It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold ; 

This neither is its courage nor its choice, 

But its necessity in being old. 

'The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; 

It cannot help itself in its decay ; 

Stiff in its members, wilher'd. changed of hue,'~ 

And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. 

To be a prodigal's favourite — then, worse truth, 

A miser's pensioner — behold our lot ! 

O Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth 

Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 

W, Wordsworth 



PAST AND PRESENT 

I remember, I remember 

The house where 1 was born, 

The little window where the sun 

Came peeping in at morn ; 

He never came a wink too soon 

Nor brought too long a day ; 

But now, I often wish the night 

Had borne my breath away, 

I remember, I remember 

The roses, red and white. 

The violets, and the lily-cups — 

Those flowers made of light ! 

The lilacs where the robin built. 

And where my brother set 

The laburnum on his birth-dayj- — 

The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing, 

And thought the air must rush as fresl 

To swallows on the wing ; 

My spirit flew in feathers then 

That is so heavy now. 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow. 



FOURTH 255 

f remember, I remember 

The fir trees dark and high ; 

I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky : 

It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 'tic little joy 

To know I'm farther oft from Heaven 

Than v/hen I was a boy. 

T. Hood 



THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS 

Oft in t!.e stilly night 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me : 
The smiles, the tears 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words ct" love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone, 
Nov/ dimm'd and gone, 
The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
Thus in the stilly night 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other dfiys around me. 
When I remember all 

The friends so link'd together 
I've seen around me fall 

Like leaves in wintry weather, 
I feel like one 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted. 
Whose lights are fled 
Whose garlands dead, 
And all but he departed ! 
Thus in the stilly night 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

T. Moore 



256 BOOK 



STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION 
NEAR NAPLES 
The sun is warm, the sky is clear, 
The waves are dancing fast and bright, 
Bkie isles and snowy mountains wear 
The purple noon's transparent might : 
The breath of the moist earth is light 
Around its unexpanded buds 
Like many a voice of one delight — 
The winds', the birds', the csean-floods' — 

The city's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. 
I see the deep's untrampled floor 
With green and purple sea-weeds strown ; 
I see the waves upon the shore 
Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown : 
I sit upon the sands alone ; 
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
Is flashing round me, and a tone 
Arises from its measured motion — 

How sweet ! did any heart now share in my ?"motioa 
Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, 
Nor peace within nor calm around, 
Nor that content, surpassing wealth, 
The sage in meditation found. 
And walk'd with inward glory crown'd — 
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ; 
Others I see whom these surround — 
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; 

To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 
Yet now despair itself is mild 
Even as the winds and waters are ; 
I could lie down like a tired child. 
And weep away the life of care 
Which I have borne, and yet must bear, — 
Till death like sleep might steal on me. 
And I might feel in the warm air 
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 

Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 

P. B. Shelley 



FOURTH 257 

CCLXXl 

IHE SCHOLAR 

My days among the Dead are pa§t ; 

Aroi.nd me I behold. 

Where er these casual eyes are cast, 

The mighty mind> r^i rid : 

My never-faiiing friends ai>. they, 

With whom I converse day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal 

And seek relief i:i woe • 

And while I undcrrtand and feel 

How riuch to them I ovvo, 

My cheeks have often been bedew'd 

With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them 

I live in Ijng-past years, 

Their virtues love, their faults condemn. 

Partake their hopes and fears, 

And from their lessons seek and find 

Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the Dead ; anon 
My place with them will be. 
And I with them shall travel on 
Through all Futurity ; 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust. 
That will not perish in the dust. 

R. Southey 

CCLXXII 

THE MERMAID TA VERN 

Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
\Vhat Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern. 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? 
Have ye tippled drink more fine 
Than mine host's Canary wine ? 
S 



258 BOOK 

Or are fruits of Paradise 
Sweeter than those dainty pies 
Of venison? O generous food ! 
Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
Would, with his Maid Marian, 
Sup and bowse from horn and can. 

I have heard that on a day 
Mine host's sign-board flew away 
Nobody knew whither, till 
An astrologer's old quill 
To a sheepskin gave the story, 
Said he saw you in your glory. 
Underneath a new-old sign 
Sipping beverage divine, 
And pledging with contented smack 
The Mermaid in the Zodiac. 

Souls of Poets dead and gone. 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern, 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 

/. Keats 



CCLXXIII 

THE PRIDE OF YOUTH 

Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush. 

Singing so rarely. 

*Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
When shall I marry me ? ' 

— ' When six braw gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye.' 

* Who makes the bridal bed, 

Birdie say truly? ' 
—'The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 



FOURTH 259 

* The glowworm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady ; 
The owl from the steeple sing 

Welcome, proud ladv.' 

Sir IV. Scott 



CCLXXIV 

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS 

One more Unfortunate 
Weary of breath 
Rashly importunate, 
Gone to her death ! 
Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashion'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements ; 
Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing. 

Touch her not scornfully, 
Think of her mournfully. 
Gently and humanly ; 
Not of the stains of her— 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and undutiful: 
Past all dishonour, 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, 
One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers 
Oozing so clammily. 



26o BOOK 



Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where was her home ? 

Who was her father ? 
Who was her mother ? 
Had she a sister ? 
Had she a brother ? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other ? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly. 
Fatherly, motherly 
Feelings had changed : 
Love, by harsh evidence. 
Thrown from its eminence ; 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 

So far in the river, 

With many a light 

From window and casement, 

From garret to basement. 

She stood with amazement, 

Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver 
But not the dark arch, 
Or the black flowing river : 
Mad from life's histor)-, 



FOURTH 261 

Glad to death's mystery 
Swift to be hurl'd— 
Any where, any where 
Out of the world I 
In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it. 
Picture it — think of it. 
Dissolute Man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, if you can ! 
Take her up tenderly. 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashion'd so slenderly. 
Young, and so fair ! 
Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, kindly. 
Smooth and compose them. 
And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly I 
Dreadfully staring 
Thro' muddy impurity. 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fix'd on futurity. 
Perishing gloomily, 
Spurr'd by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity. 
Into her rest. 

— Cross her hands humbly 
As if praying dumbly. 
Over her breast ! 
Owning her weakness, 
Her evil behaviour. 
And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour. 
T. Hood 



BOOK 



ELEGY 

Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom I 
On Ihee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves, the earliest of the year, 

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom : 
And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, 
And feed deep thought with many a dream, 
And lingering pause and lightly tread ; 

Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the dead ! 
Away ! we know that tears are vain, 
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
Will this unteach us to complain ? 
Or make one mourner weep the less ? 
And thou, who tell'st me to forget. 

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 

Lord Byron 

CCLXXVI 

HESTER 

When maidens such as Hester die 
Their place ye may not well supply, 
Though ye among a thousand try 

With vain endeavour. 
A month or more hath she been dead, 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the wormy bed 

And her together. 
A springy motion in her gait, 
A rising step, did indicate 
Of pride and joy no common rate 

That tiush'd her spirit : 
I knov/ not by what name beside 
I shall it call : if 'twas not pride, 
It was a joy to that allied 

She did inherit- 



FOURTH * 263 

Her parents held the Quaker rule, 
Which doth the human feeUng cool ; 
But she was train'd in Nature's school, 

Nature had blest her. 
A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, 

Ye could not Hester. 

My sprightly neighbour ! gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore, 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore 

Some summer morning — 
When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
A bliss that would not go away, 

A sweet fore- warning ? 

C. Lamb 



CCLXXVII 

rO MARY 

If I had thought thou couldst have died, 

I might not weep for thee ; 
But I forgot, when by thy side. 

That thou couldst mortal be : 
It never through my mind had past 

The time would e'er be o'er, 
And I on thee should look my last, 

And thou shouldst smile no more ! 

And still upon that face I look, 

And think 'twill smile again ; 
And still the thought I will not brook 

That I must look in vain ! 
But when I speak — thou dost not say 

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; 
And now I feel, as well I may. 

Sweet Mary ! thou art dead ! 



264 BOOK 

If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, 

All cold and all serene — 
I still might press thy silent heart, 

And where thy smiles have been. 
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I havCj 

Thou seemest still mine own ; 
But there I lay thee in thy grave — 

And I am now alone ! 
I do not think, where'er thou art, 

Thou hast forgotten me ; 
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, 

In thinking too of thee : 
Yet there was round thee such a dawn 

Of light ne'er seen before, 
As fancy never could have drawn, 

And never can restore ! 

C. Wolfe 

CCLXXVIII 

CORONACH 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain. 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font reappearing 

From the raindrops shall borrow, 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest. 
But our flower was in flushing 

When blighting was nearest. 
Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber. 
Red hand in the foray. 

How sound is thy slumber ! 



FOURTH 265 

Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone ; and for ever ! 

Si7' IV. Scoff 



THE DEATH BED 

We watch'd her breathing thro' the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seem'd to speak, 

So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad 
And chill with early showers, 

Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
Another morn than ours. 

T. Hood 



CCLXXX 

AGNES 

I saw her in childhood — 

A bright, gentle thing, 
Like the dawn of the morn, 

Or the dews of the spring 
The daisies and hare-bells 

Her playmates all day ; 
Herself as light-hearced 

Aiul arlless as they. 



266 BOOK 



I saw her again — 

A fair girl of eighteen, 
Fresh glittering with graces 

Of mind and of mien. 
Her speech was all music ; 

Like moonlight she shone ; 
The envy of many, 

The glory of one. 

Years, years fleeted over — 

I stood at her foot : 
The bud had grown blossom, 

The blossom was fruit. 
A dignified mother, 

Her infant she bore : 
And look'd, I thought, fairer 

Than ever before. 

I saw her once more — 

'Twas the day that she died ; 
Heaven's light was around her, 

And God at her side ; 
No wants to distress her, 

No fears to appal — 
O then, I felt, then 

She was fairest of all ! 

H, F. Lyte 



CCLXXXI 

ROSABEI LE 

O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 

* Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 



FOURTH 267 

■^ The blackening wave is edged with white ; 

To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 

' Last night the gifted Seer did view 

A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ' 

' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 

To-night at Roslin leads the ball. 
But that my ladye-mother there 

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

* 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well. 

But that my sire the wine will chide 
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.' 

— O'er Roslin all that dreary night 
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, 
And redder than the bright moonbeam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 

' Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, 

Each Baron, for a sable shroud. 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seem'd all on fire within, around, 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 
Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 

And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 



268 BOOK 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold — 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 

And each Saint Clair was buried there, 
With candle, with book, and with knell ; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

Sir IV. Scott 



CCI.XXXII 

ON AN INFANT D YING AS SOON AS BORN 

I saw wherein the shroud did lurk 

A curious frame of Nature's work ,; 

A flow'ret crushed in the bud, 

A nameless piece of Babyhood, 

Was in her cradle-cotlin lying ; 

Extinct, wiih scarce the sense of dying : 

So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb 

For darker closets of the tomb ! 

She did but ope an eye, and put 

A clear beam forth, then straight up shut 

For the long dark : ne'er more to see 

Through glasses of mortality. 

Riddle of destiny, who can show 

What thy short visit meant, or know 

What thy errand here below ? 

Shall we say, that Nature blind 

Check'd her hand, and changed her mind 

Just when she had exactly wrought 

A finish'd pattern without fault ? 

Could she flag, or could she tire. 

Or lack'd she the Promethean fire 

(With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd) 

That should thy little limbs have quicken'd ? 

Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure 

Life of health, and days mature : 

Woman's self in miniature ! 



FOURTH 269 

Limbs so fair, they might supply 

(Themselves now but cold imagery) 

The sculptor to make Beauty by. 

Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 

That babe or mother, one must die ; 

So in mercy left the stock 

And cut the branch ; to save the shock 

Of young years widow'd, ann the pain 

When Single State comes back again 

To the lone man who, reft of wife, 

Thenceforward drags a maimed life ? 

The economy of Heaven is dark. 

And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark 

Why human buds, like this, should fall, 

More brief than fly ephemeral 

That has his day ; while shrivell'd crones 

Stiffen with age to stocks and stones ; 

And crabbed use the conscience sears 

In sinners of an hundred years. 

— Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, 

Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss : 

Rites, which custom does impose, 

Silver bells, and baby clothes ; 

Coral redder than those lips 

Which pale death did late eclipse ; 

Music framed for infants' glee, 

Whistle never tuned for thee ; 

Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them, 

Loving hearts were they which gave them. 

Let not one be missing ; nurse, 

See them laid upon the hearse 

Of infant slain by doom perverse. 

Why should kings and nobles have 

Pictured trophies to their grave. 

And we, churls, to thee deny 

Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — 

A more harmless vanity ? 

C. Lamb 



270 BOOK 

CCLXXXIII 

IN MEMORIAM 

A child's a plaything for an hour ; 

Its pretty tricks we try 
For that or for a longer space, — 

Then tire, and lay it by. 
But I knew one that to itself 

All seasons could control ; 
That would have mock'd the sense of pain 

Out of a grieved soul. 
Thou straggler into loving arms, 

Young climber up of knees, 
When I forget thy thousand ways 

Then life and all shall cease ! 

M. Lamb 

CCLXXXIV 

THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET 

Where art thou, my beloved Son, 
Where art thou, worse to me than dead? 
Oh find me, prosperous or undone ! 
Or if the grave be now thy bed, 
Why am I ignorant of the same 
That I may rest ; and neither blame 
Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? 
Seven years, alas ! to have received 
No tidings of an only child — 
To have despair'd, have hoped, believed, 
And been for ever more beguiled, — 
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 
I catch at them, and then I miss ; 
Was ever darkness like to this ? 
He was among the prime in worth, 
An object beauteous to behold ; 
Well born, well bred ; I sent him forth 
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold : 
If things ensued that wanted grace 
As hath been said, they were not base ; 
And never blush was on niy face. 



FOURTH 271 

Ah ! little doth the young-one dream 
When full of play and childish cares, 
What power is in his wildest scream 
Heard by his mother unawares ! 
He knows it not, he cannot guess ; 
Years to a mother bring distress ; 
But do not make her love the less. 

Neglect me ! no, I suffer'd long 
From that ill thought ; and being blind 
Said ' Pride shall help me in my wrong : 
Kind mother have I been, as kind 
As ever breathed : ' and that is true ; 
I've wet my path with tears like dew, 
Weeping for him when no one knew. 

My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, 
Hopeless of honour and of gain, 
Oh ! do not dread thy mother's door ; 
Think not of me with grief and pain : 
I now can see with belter eyes ; 
And worldly grandeur I despise 
And fortune with her gifts and lies. 

Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings, 
And blasts of heaven will aid their flight 5 
They mount — how short a voyage brings 
The wanderers back to their delight ! 
Chains tie us down by land and sea ; 
And wishes, vain as mine, may be 
All that is left to comfort thee. 

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan 
Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men ; 
Or thou upon a desert thrown 
Inheritest the lion's den ; 
Or hast been summon'd to the deep 
Thou, thou, and all thy mates to keep 
An incommunicable sleep. 

I look for ghosts : but none will force 
Their way to me ; 'tis falsely said 
That there was ever intercourse 
Between the living and the dead ; 



272 BOOK 

For surely then I should have sight 
Of him I wait for day and night 
With love and longings infinite. 

My apprehensions come in crowds ; 
I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
The very shadows of the clouds 
Have power to shake me as they pass % 
I question things, and do not find 
One that will answer to my mind ; 
And all the world appears unkind. 

Beyond participation lie 
My troubles, and beyond relief: 
If any chance to heave a sigh 
They pity me, and not my grief. 
Then come to me, my Son, or send 
Some tidings that my woes may end I 
I have no other earthly friend. 

IV. Woj'dsworth 



CCLXXXV 

HUNTING SONG 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
On the mountain dawns the day ; 
All the jolly chase is here 
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear 
Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling. 
Merrily merrily mingle they, 
' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming ; 

And foresters have busy been 

To track the buck in thicket green ; 

Now we come to chant our lay 

' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 



FOURTH 273 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the greenwood haste away ; 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; 
You shall see him brought to bay ; 
' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 
Louder, louder chant the lay 
Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
Tell them youth and mirth and glee 
Run a course as well as we ; 
Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 
Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; 
Think of this, and rise with day. 
Gentle lords and ladies gay ! 

. Sir W. Scott 



CCLXXXVI 

TO THE SKYLARK 

Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! 
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! 
To the last point of vision, and beyond 
Mount, daring warbler ! — that love-prompted strain 
— 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 
All independent of the leafy Spring. 
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 
A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — 
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 

IV. Wordsworth 



274 BOOK 

CCLXXXVII 

TO A SKYLARK 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit ! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest, 
Like a cloud of fire. 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest, 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun ta 

O'er which clouds are brightening, 
Thou dost float and run, 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight ; 
Like a star of heaven 
In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight : 
Keen as are the arrows 
Of that silver sphere. 
Whose intense lamp narrows 
In the white dawn clear 
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 
All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare, 
From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overr 
flow'd. 
What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee ? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see 
A,s from thy presence showers a rain of melody ; — 



FOURTH 275 

Like a poet hidden 

In the Hght of thought, 
Singing hymns unbidden, 

Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower. 
Soothing her love-laden 
Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : 

Like a glow-worni golden 

In a dell of dew, 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from 
the view : 

Like a rose embower'd 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflower'd, 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged 
thieves. 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awaken'd flowers, 
All that ever was 
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine : 
I have never heard 

Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal 

Or triumphal chaunt 
Match'd with thine, would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 
T 2 



276 BOOK 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of 
pain ? 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be : 
Shadow of annoyance 
Never came near thee : 
Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking or asleep 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 

Than we mortals dream, 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not : 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught ; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of sadd.^st 
thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear ; 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 

That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow, 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! 

P. B. Shelley 



FOURTH 27-7 



CCLXXXVIII 

THE GREEN LINNET 

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 

Their snow-white blossoms on my head, 

With brightest sunshine round me spread 

Of Spring's unclouded weather, 

In this sequester'd nook how sweet 

To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 

And flowers and birds once more to greet, 

My last year's friends together. 

One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 

In all this covert of the blest : 

Hail to Thee, far above the rest 

In joy of voice and pinion ! 

Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array 

Presiding Spirit here to-day 

Dost lead the revels of the May ; 

And this is thy dominion. 

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, 
Make all one band of paramours, 
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 
Art sole in thy employment ; 
A Life, a Presence like the air. 
Scattering thy gladness without care, 
Too blest with any one to pair ; 
Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze. 
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies 
Yet seeming still to hover ; 
There ! where the flutter of his wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings. 
That cover him all over. 

My dazzled sight he oft deceives— 
A brother of the dancing leaves ; 
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves 
Pours forth his song in gushes ; 



278 BOOK 

As if by that exulting strain 
He niock'd and treated with disdain 
The voiceless Form he chose to feign, 
While fluttering in the bushes. 

W. Wordsworth 



CCLXXXIX 

TO THE CUCKOO 

blithe new-comer ! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice : 

Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, 
Or but a wandering Voice ? 

While I am lying on the grass 
Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
From hill to hill it seems to pass. 
At once far off and near. 

Though babbling only to the vale 
Of sunshine and of flowers, 
Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 

Even yet thou art to me 

No bird, but an invisible thing, 

A voice, a mystery ; 

The same whom in my school-boy days 

1 listen'd to ; that Cry 

Which made me look a thousand ways 
In bush, and tree, and sky. 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green ; 
And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 
Still long'd for, never seen ! 

And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And listen, till I do beget 
That golden time again. 



FOURTH 279 

O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace 
Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial, faery place, 
That is fit home for Thee ! 

W. Wordsworth 



CCXC 

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe- wards had sunk : 
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. 
But being too happy in thine happiness, — 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 

O, for a draught of vintage ! that hath been 

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
Tasting of Flora and the country green. 

Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth I 
O for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
And purple-stained mouth ; 
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 

And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

What thou among the leaves hast never known. 
The weariness, the fever, and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies 
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
And leaden-eyed despairs ; 
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 



28o BOOK 

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : 
Already with thee ! tender is the night. 

And haply the Queen- Moon is on her throne, 
Clustei'd around by all her starry Fays ; 
But here there is no light. 
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blovrn 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy 
ways. 

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 

Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; 
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; 
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves ; 
And mid-May's eldest child. 
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 

To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
Now more than ever seems it rich to die. 
To cease upon the midnight with no pain. 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! 

No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown : 
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for 
home, 



FOURTH 281 

She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 
The same that oft-times hath 
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 

Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 

To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! 
Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 
Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades : 
Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? 

Fled is that music : — Do I wake or sleep ? 

J. Keats 



ccxci 

UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, 
SEPT. 3, 1802 

Earth has not anything to show more fair : 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This City now doth like a garment wear 

The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky, — 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 

Never did sun more beautifully steep 

In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill ; 

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 

The river glideth at its own sweet will : 
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still 1 

IV. WordswOYtK 



282 BOOK 



CCXCII 



To one who has been long in city pent, 
"Tis very sweet to look into the fair 
And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer 
Full in the smile of the blue lirmament. 

Who is more happy, when, with heart's content; 

Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair 

Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair 

And gentle tale of love and languishment ? 

Returning home at evening, with an ear 
Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye 
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, 

He mourns that day so soon has glided by : 
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear 
That falls through the clear ether silently. 
J. Keats 



CCXCIIl 

OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT 

I met a traveller from an antique land 
Who said : Two vast and trunk less legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shattcr'd visage lies, whose frown 
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things. 
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed ; 
And on the pedestal these words appear : 
' My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! * 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless ?nd bare, 
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

P. B. Shelley 



FOURTH 283 



CCXCIV 

COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE 

PROPERTY OF LORD QUEENSBERRY, 

1803 

Degenerate Douglas ! oh, the unworthy lord ! 
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please 
And love of havoc, (for with such disease 
Fame ta::es him,) that he could send forth word 

To level with the dust a noble horde, 

A brotherhood of venerable trees, 

Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, 

Be^gar'd and outraged ! — Many hearts deplored 

The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain 

The traveller at this day will stop and gaze 

On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed : 

For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, 
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, 
And the green silent pastures, yet remain. 

W. Wordsworth 



ccxcv 

THE BEECH TREE'S PETLTLON 

O leave this barren spot to me ! 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 
Though bush or floweret never grow 
My dark un warming shade below ; 
Nor summer bud perfume the dew 
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ; 
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, 
My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive ; 
Yet leave this barren spot to me : 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 



284 BOOK 

Thrice twenty summers I have seen 
The sky grow bright, the forest green ; 
And many a wintry wind have stood 
In bloomless, fruitless solitude, 
Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
First spent its sweet and sportive hour ; 
Since youthful lovers in my shade 
Their vows of truth and rapture made, 
And on my trunk's surviving frame 
Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound, 
First breathed upon this sacred ground ; 
By all that Love has whisper' J here, 
Or Beauty heard with ravish' 1 ear ; 
As Love's own altar honour me : 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 

T. Campbeh 



ccxcvi 

ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER 

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ! 
— The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook 
Hath stirr'd thee deeply ; with its own dear brook, 
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky ! 

But covet not the abode ; forbear to sigh 
As many do, repining while they look ; 
Intruders — who would tear from Nature's book 
This precious leaf with harsh impiety. 

— Think what the home must be if it were thine, 
Even thine, though few thy wants! — Roof, >indow, 

door. 
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, 

The roses to the porch which they entwine : 
Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day 
On which it should be touch'd, would melt away 1 

W. Wordsworth 



FOURTH 285 



CCXCVII 

TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF 
INVERSNEYDE 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 

Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 

Twice seven consenting years have shed 

Their utmost bounty on thy head : 

And these gray rocks, that household lawn. 

Those trees— a veil just half withdrawn, 

This fall of water that doth make 

A murmur near the silent lake, 

This little bay, a quiet road 

That holds in shelter thy abode ; 

In truth together ye do seem 

Like something fashion'd in a dream ; 

Such forms as from their covert peep 

When earthly cares are laid asleep ! 

But O fair Creature ! in the light 

Of common day, so heavenly bright, 

I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, 

I bless thee with a human heart : 

God shield thee to thy latest years ! 

Thee neither know I nor thj peers : 

And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 
For thee when I am far away ; 
For never saw I mien or face 
In which more plainly I could trace 
Benignity and home-bred sense 
Ripening in perfect innocence. 
Here scatter'd, like a random seed. 
Remote from men, Thou dost not need 
The embarrass'd look of shy distress, 
And maidenly shamefacedness : 
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The freedom of a Mountaineer : 
A face with gladness overspread ; 
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred ; 



286 BOOK 

And seemliness complete, that sways 
Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
With no restraint, but such as springs 
From quick and eager visitings 
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
Of thy few words of English speech : 
A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife 
That gives thy gestures grace and life ! 
So have I, not unmoved in mind, 
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — 
Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee who art so beautiful ? 

happy pleasure ! here to dwell 
Beside ihee in some heathy dell ; 
Adopt your homely ways, and dress, 
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! 
But I could frame a wish for thee 
More like a grave reality : 

Thou art to me but as a wave 

Of the wild sea : and I would have 

Some claim upon thee, if I could, 

Though but of common neighbourhood. 

What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 

Thy elder brother I would be, 

Thy father — anything to thee. 

Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace 
Hath led me to this lonely place : 
Joy have I had ; and going hence 

1 bear away my recom pence. 

In spots like these it is we prize 
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes : 
Then why should I be loth to stir ? 
I feel this place was made for her ; 
To give new pleasure like the past, 
Continued long as life shall last. 
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, 
Sweet Highland Girl ! from thee to part; 
For I, methinks, till I grow old 



FOURTH 287 

As fair before me shall behold 
As I do now, the cabin small, 
The lake, the bay, the waterfall ; 
And Thee, the Spirit of them all ! 

PF. Wordsworlh 



CCXCVIII 

THE REAPER 

Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland Lass ! 
Reaping and singing by herself ; 
Stop here, or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain ; 

listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chaunt 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travellers in some shady haunt, 
Among Arabian sands : 
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings? 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off things. 
And battles long ago : 
Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day ? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
That has been, and may be again ! 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending ; 

1 saw her singing at her work. 
And o'er the sickle bending ;— 
I listen'd, motionless and still ; 



288 BOOK 

And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more. 

W. Wordsworik 



CCXCIX 

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN 

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, 
Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three 

years : 
Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard 
In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 

'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees 
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide. 
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 

Green pastures she views in the midst f^i the dale 
Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail ; 
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, 
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 

She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, 
And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes ! 

W. Wordsworth 

ccc 

TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR 

Ariel to Miranda : — Take 

This slave of music, for the sake 

Of him, who is the slave of thee ; 

And teach it all the harmony 

In which thou canst, and only thou, 

Make the delighted spirit glow, 

Till joy denies itself again 

And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. 



FOURTH 289 

For by permission and command 

Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, 

Poor Ariel sends this silent token 

Of more than ever can be spoken ; 

Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 

From life to life must still pursue 

Your happiness, for thu? alone 

Can Ariel ever find his own. 

From Prospcro's enchanted cell. 

As the mighty verses tell, 

To the throne of Naples he 

Lit you o'er the trackless sea, 

Flitting on, your prow before, 

Like a living meteor. 

When you die, the silent Moon 

In her interlunar swoon 

Is not sadder in her cell 

Than deserted Ariel : — 

When you live again on earth, 

Like an unseen Star of birth 

Ariel guides you o'er the sea 

Of life from your nativity : — 

Many changes have been run 

Since Ferdinand and you begun 

Your course of love, and Ariel still 

Has track'd your steps and served your will. 

Now in humbler, happier lot. 

This is all remember'd not ; 

And now, alas ! the poor Sprite is 

Imprison'd for some fault of his 

In a body like a grave — 

From you he only dares to crave. 

For his service and his sorrow 

A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 

The artist who this idol wrought 
To echo all harmonious thought, 
Fell'd a tree, while on the steep 
The woods were in their winter sleep, 
Rock'd in that repose divine 
On the wind-swept Apennine ; 
And dreaming, some of Autumn past, 
U 



290 BOOK 

And some of Spring approaching fast, 

And some of April buds and showers, 

And some of songs in July bowers, 

And all of love : And so this tree, — 

Oh that such our death may be ! — 

Died in sleep, and felt no pain. 

To live in happier form again : 

From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, 

The artist wrought this loved Guitar ; 

And taught it justly to reply 

To all who question skilfully 

In language gentle as thine own ; 

Whispering in enamour'd tone 

Sw^eet oracles of woods and dells, 

And summer winds in sylvan cells : 

— For it had learnt all harmonies 

Of the plains and of the skies, 

Of the forests and the mountains. 

And the many-voiced fountains ; 

The clearest echoes of the hills. 

The softest notes of falling rills, 

The melodies of birds and bees. 

The murmuring of summer seas, 

And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 

And airs of evening ; and it knew 

That seldom-heard mysterious sound 

Which, driven on its diurnal round. 

As it floats through boundless day. 

Our world enkindles on its way : 

— All this it knows, but will not tell 

To those who cannot question well 

The Spirit that inhabits it ; 

It talks according to the wit 

Of its companions ; and no more 

Is heard than has been felt before 

By those who tempt it to betray 

These secrets of an elder day. 

But, sweetly as it answers will 

Flatter hands of perfect skill. 

It keeps its highest holiest tone 

For our beloved Friend alone. 

P. B. Shelley 



FOURTH 291 



CCCI 

THE DAFFODILS 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hili. , 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host of golden daffodils, 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 

And twinkle on the milky way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 

Along the margin of a bay : 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : — 

A Poet could not but be gay 

In such a jocund company ! 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood. 

They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills. 

And dances with the daffodils. 

W. Worc'sworth 

CCCI I 

TO THE DAISY 

With little here to do or see 

Of things that in the great world be, 

Sweet Daisy 1 oft I talk to thee 

For thou art worthy, 
Thou unassuming Common-place 
Of Nature, with that homely face, 
And yet with something of a grace 

Which Love makes for thee ! 
u 2 



292 BOOK 

Oft on the dappled turf at ease 

I sit and play with similes, 

Loose types of things through all degrees, 

Thoughts of thy raising ; 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame 
As is the humour of the game, 

While I am gazing. 
A nun deiTiure, of lowly port ; 
Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, 
In thy simplicity the sport 

Of all temptations ; 
A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
A starveling in a scanty vest ; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 

Thy appellations. 
A little Cyclops, with one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next — and instantly 

The freak is over, 
The shape will vanish, and behold ! 
A silver shield with boss of goid 
That spreads itself, some faery bold 

In fight to cover. 
I see thee glittering from afar — 
And then thou art a pretty star, 
Not quite so fair as many are 

In heaven above thee ! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ;— = 
May peace come never to his nest 

Who shall reprove thee ! 
Sweet Flower ! for by that name at last 
When all my reveries are past 
I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 

Sweet silent Creature ! 
That breath'st with me in sun and air, 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness, and a share 

Of thy meek nature ! 

PV. Wordsworth 



FOURTH 293 



\^ 



ODE TO AUTUMN 



Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 

Conspiring with him how to load and bless 

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; 

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; 

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 

With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, 

And still more, later flowers for the bees, 

Until they think warm days will never cease ; 

For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? 
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep. 
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
Spares the next swalh and all its twined flowers : 
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, 
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 

Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? 

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — 

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day 

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; 

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 

Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft 

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; 

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 

J. Keats 



294 BOOK 

CCCIV 

ODE TO WINTER 

Germany, Deceuiber, 1800 

When first the fiery- mantled Sun 
His heavenly race began to run, 
Round the earth and ocean blue 
His children four the Seasons flew. 

First, in green apparel dancing. 
The young Spring smiled with angel-grace ; 

Rosy Summer next advancing, 
Rush'd into her sire's embrace — 
Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles, 
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep 

Or India's citron-cover'd isles : 
More remote, and buxom-brown, 

The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne 
A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 

But howling Winter fled afar 
To hills that prop the polar star ; 
And loves on deer-borne car to ride 
With barren darkness by his side, 
Round the shore where loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the roaring whale, 
Round the hall where Runic Odin 

Howls his war-song to the gale ; 
Save when adown the ravaged globe 

He travels on his native storm, 
Deflowering Nature's grassy robe 

And trampling on her faded form : — 
Till light's returning Lord assume 

The shaft that drives him to his polar field, 
Of power to pierce his raven plume 

And crystal-cover'd shield. 

Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear 
The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
Implores thy dreadful deity — 



FOURTH 295 

Archangel ! Power of desolation ! 

Fast descending as thou art, 
Say, hath mortal invocation 

Spells to touch thy stony heart ? 
Then, sullen Winter ! hear my prayer, 
And gently rule the ruin'd year ; 
Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare 
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear : 
To shuddering Want's unmantled bed 

Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend, 
And gently on the orphan head 

Of Innocence descend. 
But chiefly spare, O king of clouds ! 
The sailor on his airy shrouds, 
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, 
And spectres walk along the deep. 
Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

Pour on yonder tented shores, 
Wliere the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 

Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
Oh, winds of Winter ! list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan ? 
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air. 

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own ? 
Alas ! ev'n your unhallow'd breath 

May spare the victim fallen low ; 
Eut Man will ask no truce to death, — 

No bounds to human woe. 

T. Campbell 

YARROW UN VI SI TED 
1803 

From Stirling Castle we had seen 
The mazy Forth unravell'd. 
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay 
And with the Tweed had travel I'd ; 
And when we came to Clovenford, 
Then said my ' winsome Marrow,' 
' Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, 
And see the Braes of Yarrow.' 



296 BOOK 

' Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 
-Who have been buying, selling, 
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own. 
Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ; 
But we will downward with the Twe'id, 
Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 

'There's Gala Water, Leader Haughs, 
Both lying right before us ; 
And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed 
The lintwhites sing in chorus ; 
There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land 
Made blithe with plough and harrow : 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow ? 

' What's Yarrow but a river bare 

That glides the dark hills under ? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere 

As worthy of your wonder.' 

— Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn 

My True-love sigh'd for sorrow, 

And look'd me in the face, to think 

I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 

' O green,' said I, ' are Yarrow's holms. 
And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock. 
But we will leave it growing. 
O'er hilly path and open strath 
We'll wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 

' Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow ! 
We will not see them ; will not go 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
Enough if in our hearts we know 
There's such a place as Yarrow. 



FOURTH 29? 

• Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ! 
It must, or we shall rue it : 
We have a vision of our own. 
Ah ! why should we undo it ? 
The treasured dreams of times long past, 
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
'Twill be another Yarrow ! 

' If Care with freezing years should come 

And wandering seem but folly, — 

Should Ave be loth to stir from home, 

And yet be melancholy ; 

Should life be dull, and spirits low, 

'Twill soothe us in our sorrow 

That earth has something yet to show, 

The bonny holms of Yarrow ! ' 

IF. JVoj-dswortk 



CCCVI 

YARROW VISITED 

September, 1814 

And is this — Yarrow ? — This the stream 

Of which my fancy cherish'd 

So faithfully, a waking dream. 

An image that hath perish'd ? 

D that some minstrel's harp were near 

To utter notes of gladness 

And chase this silence from the air. 

That fills my heart with sadness ! 

Yet why ? — a silvery current flows 

With uncontroll'd meanderings ; 

Nor have these eyes by greener hills 

Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 

And, through her depths. Saint Mary's Lake 

Is visibly delighted ; 

For not a feature of those hills 

Is in the mirror slighted. 



298 BOOK 

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, 

Save where that pearly whiteness 

Is round the rising sun diffused, 

A tender hazy brightness ; 

Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 

All profitless dejection ; 

Though not unwilling here to admit 

A pensive recollection. 

Where was it that the famous Flower 

Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding ? 

His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 

On which the herd is feeding : 

And haply from this crystal pool, 

Now peaceful as the morning, 

The Water-wraith ascended thrice, 

And gave his doleful" warning. 

Delicious is the lay that sings 

The haunts of happy lovers, 

The path that leads them to the grove, 

The leafy grove that covers : 

And pity sanctifies the verse 

That paints, by strength of sorrow. 

The unconquerable strength of love ; 

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 

But thou that didst appear so fair 

To fond imagination. 

Dost rival in the light of day 

Her delicate creation : 

Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 

A softness still and holy : 

The grace of forest charms decay'd. 

And pastoral melancholy. 

That region left, the vale unfolds 

Rich groves of lofty stature. 

With Yarrow winding through the pomp 

Of cultivated nature ; 

And rising from those lofty groves 

Behold a ruin hoary, 

The shatter'd front of Newark's towers, 

Renown'd in Border story. 



FOURTH 299 

Fair sc<..ies for childhood's opening bloom, 

For sportive youth to stray in, 

For manhood to enjoy his strength, 

And age to wear away in ! 

Yon cottage seems a bower of bhss, 

A covert for protection 

Of tender thoughts that nestle there — 

The brood of chaste affection. 

How sweet on this autumnal day 

The wild- wood fruits to gather, 

And on my True-love's forehead plant 

A crest of blooming heather ! 

And what if I enwreathed my own ? 

'Twere no offence to reason ; 

The sober hills thus deck their brows 

To meet the wintry season. 

I see — but not by sight alone. 

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 

A ray of Fancy still survives — 

Hei sunshine plays upon thee ! 

Thy ever-youthful waters keep 

A course of lively pleasure ; 

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe 

Accordant to the measure. 

The vapours linger round the heights, 
They melt, and soon must vanish ; 
One hour is tiieirs, nor more is mine — 
Sad thought ! which I would banish, 
But that I know, where'er I go, 
Thy genuine image, Yarrow ! 
Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, 
And cheer my mind in sorrow. 

W. Wordsworth 



CCCVII 

UHE INVITATION 

Best and brightest, come away,- 
Fairer far than this fair Day, 



30O BOOK 

Which, like thee, to those in sorrow 
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow 
To the rough year just awake 
In its cradle on the brake. 
The brightest hour of unborn Spring 
Through the winter wandering, 
Found, it seems, the halcyon morn 
To hoar February born ; 
Bending from heaven, in azure mirth. 
It kiss'd the forehead of the earth, 
And smiled upon the silent sea, 
And bade the frozen streams be free. 
And waked to music all their fountains, 
And breathed upon the frozen mountains, 
And like a prophetess of May 
Strew'd flowers upon the barren way. 
Making the wintry world appear 
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. 

Av/ay, away, from men and towns. 
To the wild wood and the downs — 
To the silent wilderness 
Where the soul need not repress 
Its music, lest it should not find 
An echo in another's mind, 
While the touch of Nature's art 
Harmonizes heart to heart. 

Radiant Sister of the Day 
Awake ! arise ! and come away ! 
To the wild woods and the plains, 
To the pools where winter rains 
Image all their roof of leaves, 
Where the pine its garland weaves 
Of sapless green, and ivy dun, 
Round stems that never kiss the sun ; 
Where the lawns and pastures l)e 
And the sandhills of the sea ; 
Where the melting hoar-frost wets 
The daisy-star that never sets, 
And wind-flowers and violets 
Which yet join not scent to hue 
Crown the pale year weak and new ; 



FOURTH 301 

When the night is left behind 
In the deep east, dim and blind, 
And the blue noon is over us, 
And the multitudinous 
Billows murmur at our feet, 
Where the earth and ocean meet, 
And all things seem only one 
In the universal Sun. 

P. B. Shelley -.[^ 



^• 



■^ 



CCCVIII 

THE RECOLLECTION 



Now the last day of many days 
All beautiful and bright as thou, 
The loveliest and the last, is dead : 
Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! 
Up — to thy wonted work ! come, trace 
The epitaph of glory fled. 
For now the earth has changed its face, 
A frown is on the heaven's brow. 

We wander'd to the Pine Forest 

That skirts the Ocean's foam ; 
The lightest wind was in its nest, 

The tempest in its home. 
The whispering waves were half asleep. 

The clouds were gone to play. 
And on the bosom of the deep 

The smile of heaven lay ; 
It seem'd as if the hour were one 

Sent from beyond the skies 
Which scatter'd from above the sun 

A light of Paradise ! 

We paused amid the pines that stood 

The giants of the waste, 
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude 

As serpents interlaced, — 
And soothed by ever}' azure breath 

That under heaven is blown, 



302 BOOK 

To harmonies and hues beneath, 

As tender as its own : 
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 

Like green waves on the sea, 
As still as in the silent deep 

The ocean- woods may be. 

How calm it was ! — The silence there 

By such a chain was bound, 
That even the busy woodpecker 

Made stiller with her sound 
The inviolable quietness ; 

The breath of peace we drew 
With its soft motion made not less 

The calm that round us grew. 
There seem'd, from the remotest seat 

Of the white mountain waste 
To the soft flower beneath our feet, 

A magic circle traced, — 
A spirit interfused around, 

A thrilling silent life ; 
To momentary peace it bound 

Our mortal nature's strife ; — 
And still I felt the centre of 

The magic circle there 
Was one fair form that fiU'd with love 

The lifeless atmosphere. 

We paused beside the pools that lie 

Under the forest bough ; 
Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky 

Gulf'd in a world below ; 
A firmament of purple light 

Which in the dark earth lay, 
More boundless than the depth of night 

And purer than the day — 
In which the lovely forests grew 

As in the upper air. 
More perfect both in shape and hue 

Than any spreading there. 
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 

And through the dark -green wood 



FOURTH 303 

The white sun twinkling like the dawn 

Out of a speckled cloud. 
Sweet views which in our world above 

Can never well be seen 
Were imaged in the water's love 

Of that fair forest green : 
And all was interfused beneath 

With an Elysian glow, 
An atmosphere without a breath, 

A softer day below. 
Like one beloved, the scene had lent 

To the dark water's breast 
Its every leaf and lineament 

With more than truth exprest ; 
Until an envious wind crept by, • 

Like an unwelcome thought 
Which from the mind's too faithful eye 

Blots one dear image out. 
— Though thou art ever fair and kind, 

The forests ever green, 
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind 

Than calm in waters seen ! 

P. B. Shelley 



BY THE SEA 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 

The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : 
Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, 
And doth with his eternal motion make 
A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 

Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, 
If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought 
Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 



304 BOOK 

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, 
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
God being with thee when we know it not. 
JV. Woi'dsworth 



CCCX 

SONG TO THE EVENING STAR 

Star that bringest home the bee, 
And sett'st the weary labourer free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou 

That send'st it from above. 
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow 
, Are sweet as hers we love. 

Come to the luxuriant skies, 
Whilst the landscape's odours rise. 
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard 

And songs when toil is done. 
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art, 
Too delicious to be riven 

"By absence from the heart. 

T. CampbeU 



DATUR HORA QUIETl 

The sun upon the lake is low, 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have eveumg's deepest glow. 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

F'rom home and love divide, 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 



FOURTH 

The noble dame, on turret high, 

Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armour bright. 
The village maid, with hand on brow 

The level ray to shade, 
Upon the f<jotpath watches now 

For Coiin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans row, 

By day they swam apart, 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner's side 

Twitters his closing song — 
All meet whom day and care divide, 

But Leonard tarries long ! 

Sir W. Scott 

CCCXII 

TO THE MOON 

Art thou pale for weariness 
Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, 

Wandering companionless 
Among the stars that have a different birth, — 
And ever-changing, like a joyless eye 
That finds no object worth its constancy ? 

P. B. Shelley 

CCCXII I 

TO SLEEP 

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 
One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 
Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky 

I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 
Sleepless ; and soon the small birds' melodies 
Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees, 
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 

X 



^' 



3o6 BOOK 

Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay. 
And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : 
So do not let me wear to-night away : 
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth ? 
Come, blessed barrier between day and day, 
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health 

IV. IVordsworih 



cccxiv 
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd 

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, 

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw 

By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, 
At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw ; 

And thrice ere the morning I di^amt it again. 
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array 

Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track : 
'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers 
sung. 
Then pledged we the vs-ine-cup, and fondly I swore 

From my home and my weeping friends never to 
part ; 
My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er. 

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 
* Stay — stay with us ! — rest ! — thou art weary and 
worn ! ' — 

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — 
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, 

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 

T. Campbell 



FOURTH 307 



A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN 

I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 

Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, 

And gentle odours led my steps astray, 
Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring 

A-long a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 

Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 

But kiss'd it and then t^ed, as Thou mightest in dream. 

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 

Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, 
The constellated flower that never sets ; 

Faint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth 
The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets 
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears. 
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. 

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 

(keen cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd May, 

And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day ; 

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 

With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; 

And flowers azure, black, and streak'd with gold, 

Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold. 

And nearer to the river's trembling edge 

There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank'd with 
white, 

And starry river-buds among the sedge, 
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 

Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 

With moonlight beams of their own watery light ; 

And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 

As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 

Methought that of these visionary flowers 
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
X 2 



3o8 BOOK 

That the same hues, which in their natural bowers 
Were mingled or opposed, the like array 

Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours 
Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, 

I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come 

That I might there present it — O ! to Whom ? 

P. B. Shelley 

CCCXVI 

KUBLA KHAN 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 

Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round : 
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree ; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills. 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced : 
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : 
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran. 
Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 



FOURTH 309 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 

Floated midway on the waves ; 

Where was heard the mingled measure 

From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 

A damsel with a dulcimer 

In a vision once I saw : 

It was an Abyssinian maid, 

And on her dulcimer she play'd, 

Singin*^ of Mount A bora. 

Could I revive within me 

Her symphony and song. 
To such a deep delight 'twould win me 
That with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air. 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
And all who heard should see them there, 
And all should cry. Beware ! Beware 1 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a circle round him thrice, 
And close your eyes with holy dread. 
For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
And drunk the milk of Paradise. 

S. T. Coleridge 



CCCXVII 

THE INNER VISION 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 
To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
While a fair region round the traveller lies 
Which he forbears again to look upon : 

Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 
Of meditation, slipping in between 
The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 

— If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : 
With Thought and Love companions of our way- 



3IO BOOK 

Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, — 
The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 
Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 

W. Wordsworth 



cccxvm 

THE REALM OF FANCY 

Ever let the Fancy roam ; 

Pleasure never is at home : 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ; 

Thew let winged Fancy wander 

Through the thought still spread beyond her 

Open wide the mind's cage-door, 

She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. 

O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 

Summer's joys are spoilt by use. 

And the enjoying of the Spring 

Fades as does its blossoming ; 

Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, 

Blushing through the mist and dew, 

Cloys with tasting : What do then ? 

Sit thee by the ingle, when 

The sear faggot blazes blight. 

Spirit of a winter's night : 

When the soundless earth is muffled, 

And the caked snow is shuffled 

From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; 

When the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy 

To banish Even from her sky. 

Sit thee there, and send abroad, 

With a mind self-overaw'd, 

Fancy, high-commission'd : — send her ! 

She has vassals to attend her : 

She will bring, in spile of frost, 

Beauties that the earth hath lost ; 

She will bring thee, all together. 

All delights of summer weather ; 

All the buds and bells of May, 



FOURTH 31] 

From dewy sward or thorny spray ; 

All the heaped Autumn's wealth, 

With a still, mysterious stealth : 

She will mix these pleasures up 

Like three fit wines in a cup, 

And thou shalt quaft" it : — thou shalt hear 

Distant harvest-carols clear ; 

Rustle of the reaped corn ; 

Sweet birds antheming the morn : 

And, in the same moment — hark ! 

'Tis the early April lark, 

Or the rooks, with busy caw, 

Foraging for sticks and straw. 

Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 

The daisy and the marigold ; 

White-plumed lilies, and the first 

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; 

Shaded hyacinth, alway 

Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; 

And every leaf, and every flower 

Pearled with the self-same shower. 

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 

Meagre from its celled sleep ; 

And the snake all winter-thin 

Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 

Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 

Hatching in the hawthorn-tree, 

When the hen-bird's wing doth rest 

Quiet on her mossy nest. ; 

Then the hurry and alarm 

When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; 

Acorns ripe down- pattering, 

While the autumn breezes sing. 

Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
Everything is spoilt by use : 
Where's the cheek that doth not fade. 
Too much gazed at ? Where's the maid 
Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
Where's the eye, however blue, 
Dolh not weary ? Where's the face 
One would meet in every place ? 
Where's the voice, however soft, 



312 BOOK 

One would hear so very oft ? 

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 

Let then winged P^ancy find 

Thee a mistress to thy mind : 

Dulcet -eyed as Ceres' daughter, 

Ere the God of Torment taught her 

How to frown and how to chide ; 

With a waist and with a side 

White as Hebe's, when her zone 

Slipt its golden clasp, and down 

Fell her kirtle to her feet, 

While she held the goblet sweet, 

And Jove grew languid. — Bi'eak the mesh 

Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 

Quickly break her prison-string. 

And such joys as these she'll bring. 

— Let the winged Fancy roam, 

Pleasure never is at home. 

J. Keats 



cccxix; 

WRITTEN IN EARL Y SPRING 

I heard a thousand blended notes 

While in a grove I sate reclined. 

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 

Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 

To her fair works did Nature link 
The human soul that through me ran ; 
And much it grieved my heart to think 
What Man has made of Man. 

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 

The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths ; 

And 'tis my faith that every flower 

Enjoys the air it breathes. 

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd, 

Their thoughts I cannot measure, — 

But the least motion which they made 

It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. 



FOURTH 313 

The budding twigs spread out their fan 
To catch the breezy air ; 
And I must think, do all I can, 
That there was pleasure there. 

If this belief from heaven be sent, 
If such be Nature's holy plan, 
Have I not reason to lament 

What Man has made of Man ? > i,/ 

ff-^. Wordsrvorth ^ ^i 



cccxx 

RUTH: OR THE INFLUENCES OF 
NATURE 

When Ruth was left half desolate 
Her father took another mate ; 
And Ruth, not seven years old, 
A slighted child, at her own will 
Went wandering over dale and hill, 
In thoughtless freedom, bold. 

And she had made a pipe of straw, 
And music from that pipe could draw 
Like sounds of winds and floods ; 
Had built a bower upon the green, 
As if she from her birth had been 
An infant of the woods. 

Beneath her father's roof, alone 

She seem'd to live ; her thoughts her own ; 

Herself her own delight : 

Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay ; 

And passing thus the live- long day. 

She grew to woman's height. 

There came a 5^outh from Georgia's shore — 

A military casque he wore 

With splendid feathers drest ; 

He brought them from the Cherokees ; 

The feathers nodded in the breeze 

And made a gallant crest. 






314 BOOK 

From Indian blood you deem him sprung : 
But no ! he spake the English tongue 
And bore a soldier's name ; 
And, when America was free 
From battle and from jeopardy, 
He 'cross the ocean came. 

With hues of genius on his cheek, 

in finest tones the youth could speak : 

— While he was yet a boy 

The moon, the glory of the sun, 

And streams that murmur as they run 

Had been his dearest joy. 

He was a lovely youth ! I guess 

The panther in the wilderness 

Was not so fair as he ; 

And when he chose to sport and play, 

No dolphin ever was so gay 

Upon the tropic sea. 

Among the Indians he had fought ; 
And with him many tales he brought 
Of pleasure and of fear ; 
Such tales as, told to any maid 
By such a youth, in the green shade, 
Were perilous to hear. 

He told of girls, a happy rout ! 

Who quit their fold with dance and shout, 

Their pleasant Indian town, 

To gather strawberries all day long ; 

Returning with a choral song 

W^hen daylight is gone- down. 

He spake of plants that hourly change 
Their blossoms, through a boundless range 
Of intermingling hues ; 
With budding, fading, faded flowers. 
They stand the wonder of the bowers 
From morn to evening dews. 

He told of the magnolia, spread 
High as a cloud, high over head ' 
The cypress and her spire ; 



FOURTH 315 

— Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam 
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 
To set the hills on fire. 

The youth of green savannahs spake. 
And many an endless, endless lake 
With all its fairy crowds 
Of islands, that together lie 
As quietly as spots of sky 
Among the evening clouds. 

' How pleasant,' then he said, ' it were 

A fisher or a hunter there, 

In sunshine or in shade 

To wander with an easy mind, 

And build a household fire, and find 

A home in every glade ! 

•What days and what bright years ! Ah me! 

Our life were life indeed, with thee 

So pass'd in quiet bliss ; 

And all the while,' said he, ' to know 

That we were in a world of woe, 

On such an earth as this I ' 

And then he sometimes interwove 
Fond thoughts about a father's love, 

* For there,' said he, ' are spun 
Around the heart such tender ties, 
That our own children to our eyes 
Are dearer than the sun. 

' Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me 

My helpmate in the woods to be. 

Our shed at night to rear ; 

Or run, my own adopted bride, 

A sylvan huntress at my side. 

And drive the flying deer ! 

* Beloved Ruth ! ' — No more he said. 
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed 
A solitary tear : 

She thought again — and did agree 
With him to sail across the sea, 
And drive the flying deer. 



3i6 BOOK 

' And now, as fitting is and right, 
We in the church our faith will plight, 
A husband and a wife.' 
Even so they did ; and I may say 
That to sweet Ruth that happy day 
Was more than human life. 

Through dream and vision did she sink. 
Delighted all the while to think 
That, on those lonesome floods 
And green savannahs, she should share 
His board with lawful joy, and bear 
His name in the wild woods. 

Eat, as you have before been told. 
This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, 
And with his dancing crest 
So beautiful, through savage lands 
Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 
Of Indians in the West. 

The wind, the tempest roaring high, 

The tumult of a tropic sky 

Might well be dangerous food 

For him, a youth to whom was given 

So much of earth— so much of heaven, 

And such impetuous blood. 

Whatever in those climes he found 

Irregular in sight or sound 

Did to his mind impart 

A kindred impulse, seem'd allied 

To his own powers, and justified 

The workings of his heart. 

Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought. 
The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, 
Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ; 
The breezes their own languor lent ; 
The stars had feelings, which they sent 
Into those favour'd bowers. 

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween 
That sometimes there did intervene 
Pure hopes of high intent : 



FOURTH 317 

For passions link'd to lorms so fair 
And stately, needs must have their share 
Of noble sentiment. 

But ill he lived, much evil saw, 
With men to whom no better law 
Nor better life was known ; 
Deliberately and undeceived 
Those wild men's vices he received, 
And gave them back his own. 

His genius and his moral frame 
Were thus impair'd, and he became 
The slave of low desires : 
A man who without self-control 
Would seek M^hat the degraded soul 
Unworthily admires. 

And yet he with no feign 'd delight 
Had woo'd the maiden, day and night 
Had loved her, night and morn : 
What could he less than love a maid 
Whose heart v/ith so much nature play'd — 
So kind and so forlorn ? 

Sometimes most earnestly he said, 

' O Ruth ! I have been worse than dead ; 

False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 

Encompass'd me on every side 

When I, in confidence and pride, 

Had cross'd the Atlantic main. 

' Before me shone a glorious world 
Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl'd 
To music suddenly : 
I look'd upon those hills and plains. 
And seem'd as if let loose from chains 
To live at liberty ! 

' No more of this — for now, by thee, 
Dear Ruth ! more happily set free, 
With nobler zeal I burn ; 
My soul from darkness is released 
Like the whole sky when to the east 
The morning doth return.' 



3i8 BOOK 

Full soon that better mind was gone ; 
No hope, no wish remain'd, not one, — 
They stirr'd him now no more ; 
New objects did new pleasure give. 
And once again he wish'd to live 
As lawless as before. 

Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared. 
They for the voyage were prepared. 
And went to the sea-shore : 
But, when they thither came, the youth 
Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth 
Could never find him more. 

God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had 

That she in half a year was mad 

And in a prison housed ; 

And there, with many a doleful song 

Made of wild words, her cup of wrong 

She fearfully caroused. 

Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, 
Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 
Nor pastimes of the May, 
— They all were with her in her cell ; 
And a clear brook with cheerful knell 
Did o'er the pebbles play. 

When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 
There came a respite to her pain ; 
She from her prison fled ; 
But of the Vagrant none took thought ; 
And where it liked her best she sought 
Her shelter and her bread. 

Among the fields she breathed again : 
The master-current of her brain 
Ran permanent and free ; 
And, coming to the banks of Tone, 
There did she rest ; and dwell alone 
Under the greenwood tree. 

The engines of her pain, the tools 

That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, 

And airs that gently stir 



FOURTH 319 

The vernal leaves — she loved them stilly 

Nor ever tax'd them with the ill 

Which had been done to her. 

A barn her Winter bed supplies ; 

But, till the warmth of Sunnner skies 

And Summer days is gone, 

(And all do in this tale agree) 

She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree> 

And other home hath none. 

An innocent life, yet far astray ! 

And Ruth will, long before her day, 

Be broken down and old. 

Sore aches she needs must have ! but less 

Of mind, than body's wretchedness, 

From damp, and rain, and cold. 

If she is prest by want of food 

She from her dwelling in the wood 

Repaiis to a road-side ; 

And there she begs at one steep place^ 

Where up and down with easy pace 

The horsemen-travellers ride. 

That oaten pipe of hers is mute 

Or thrown away : but with a flute 

Her loneliness she cheers ; 

This flute, made of a hemlock stalk. 

At evening in his homeward walk 

The Quantock woodman hears. 

I, too, have pass'd her on the hills 

Setting her little water-mills 

By spouts and fountains wdld — 

Such small machinery as she turn'd 

Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn'd,— ' 

A young and happy child ! 

Farewell ! and when thy days are told, 

Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallow'd mould 

Thy corpse shall buried be : 

For thee a funeral bell shall ring. 

And all the congregation sing 

A Christian psalm for thee. 

IVo'dswortk 



320 BOOK 



CCCXXI 



WRITTEN AMONG THE 
E UGANEAN HIL LS 

Many a green ^sle needs must be 

In the deep wide sea of Misery, 

Or the mariner, Avorn and wan, 

Never thus could voyage on 

Day and night, and night and day, 

Drifting on his dreary way, 

With the solid darkness black 

Closing round his vessel's track ; 

Whilst above, the sunless sky 

Big with clouds, hangs heavily, 

And behind the tempest fleet 

Hurries on with lightning feet, 

Riving sail, and cord, and plank. 

Till the ship has almost drank 

Death from the o'er-brimming deep ; 

And sinks down, down, like that sleep 

When the dreamer SvJems to be 

Weltering through eternity ; 

And the dim low line before 

Of a dark and distant shore 

Still recedes, as ever still 

Longing with divided will, 

But no power to seek or shun, 

He is ever drifted on 

O'er the unreposing wave. 

To the haven of the grave. 

Ah, many flowering islands lie 
In the waters of wide Agony : 
To such a one this morn was led 
My bark, by soft winds piloted. 
— 'Mid the mountains Euganean 
I stood listening to the paean 
With which the legion'd rooks did hail 
The Sun's uprise majestical : 
Gathering round with wings all hoar, 



FOURTH 321 

Through ihe dewy mist they soar 
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaveu 
Bursts ; and then,— as clouds of even 
Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie 
In the unfathomable sky, — 
So their plumes of purple grain 
Starr'd with drops of golden rain 
Gleam above the sunlight woods,- 
As in silent multitudes 
On the morning's fitful gale 
Through the broken mist they sail ; 
And the vapours cloven and gleaming 
Follow down the dark steep streaming, 
Till all is bright, and clear, and still 
Round the solitary hill. 

Beneath is spread like a green sea 
The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
Bounded by the vaporous air, 
Islanded by cities fair ; 
Underneath Day's azure eyes, 
Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — 
A peopled laV^yrinth of walls, 
Amphitrite's destined halls. 
Which her hoary sire now paves 
With his blue and beaming waves. 
Lo ! the sun upsprings behind. 
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined 
On the level quivering line 
Of the waters crystalline ; 
And before that chasm of light, 
As within a furnace bright, 
Column, tower, and dome, and spire. 
Shine like obelisks of fire, 
Pointing with inconstant motion 
From the altar of dark ocean 
To the sapphire-tinted skies ; 
As the flames of sacrifice 
From the marble shrines did rise 
As to pierce the dome of gold 
Where Apollo spoke of old. 

Sun-girt City ! thou hast been 

Y 



322 BOOK 

Ocean's child, and then his queen \ 
Now is come a darker day, 
And thou soon must be his prey, 
If the power that raised thee here 
Hallow so thy watery bier. 
A less drear ruin then than now, 
With thy conquest-branded brow 
Stooping to the slave of slaves 
From thy throne among the waves 
Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew 
Flies, as once before it flew, 
O'er thine isles depopulate. 
And all is in its ancient state. 
Save where many a palace-gate 
With green sea-flowers overgrown 
Like a rock of ocean's own. 
Topples o'er the abandon'd sea 
As the tides change sullenly. 
The flsher on his watery way 
Wandering at the close of day, 
Will spread his sail and seize his oar 
Till he pass the gloomy shore, 
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep^ 
Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 
Lead a rapid masque of death 
O'er the waters of his path. 

Noon descends around me now : 
'Tis the noon of autumn's glow, 
When a soft and purple mist 
Like a vaporous amethyst, 
Or an air-dissolved star 
Mingling light and fragrance, far 
From the curved horizon's bound 
To the point of heaven's profound, 
Fills the overflowing sky ; 
And the plains that silent lie 
Underneath ; the leaves unsodden 
Where the infant Frost has trodden 
With his morning-winged feet 
Whose bright print is gleaming yet ; 
And the red and golden vines 



FOURTH 323 

Hercing with their trellised lines 

The rough, dark-skirted wilderness ; 

The dun and bladed grass no less, 

Pointing from this hoary tower 

In the windless air ; the flower 

Glimmering at my feet ; the line 

Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine 

In the south dimly islanded ; 

And the Alps, whose snows are spread 

High between the clouds and sun ; 

And of living things each one ; 

And my spirit, which so long 

Darken'd this swift stream of song, — 

Interpenetrated lie 

By the glory of the sky ; 

Be it love, light, harmony, 

Odour, or the soul of all 

Which from heaven like dew doth falL 

Or the mind which feeds this verse. 

Peopling the lone universe. 

Noon descends, and after noon 
Autumn's evening meets me soon, 
Leading the infantine moon 
And that one star, which to her 
Almost seems to minister 
Half the crimson light she brings 
From the sunset's radiant springs : 
And the soft dreams of the morn 
(Which like winged winds had borne 
To that silent isle, which lies 
'Mid remember'd agonies. 
The frail bark of this lone being), 
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, 
And its ancient pilot, Pain, 
Sits beside the helm again. 

Other flowering isles must be 
In the sea of Life and Agony : 
Other spirits float and flee 
O'er that gulf : Ev'n now, perhaps, 
On some rock the wild wave wraps, 
Y 2 



324 BOOK 

With folded wings they waiting sit 

For my bark, to pilot it 

To some calm and blooming cove ; 

Where for me, and those I love, 

May a windless bower be built, 

Far from passion, pain, and guilt, 

In a dell 'mid lawn> hills 

Which the wild sea-murmur fills. 

And soft sunshine, and the sound 

Of old forests echoing round. 

And the hght and smell divine 

Of all flowers that breathe and shine, 

— We may live so happy there, 

That the Spirits of the Air 

Envying us, may ev'n entice 

To our healing paradise 

The polluting multitude : 

But their rage would be subdued 

By that cHme divine and calm, 

And the winds whose wings rain balm 

On the uplifted soul, and leaves 

Under which the bright sea heaves ; 

While each breathless interval 

In their whisperings musical 

The inspired soul supplies 

With its own deep melodies ; 

And the Love which heals all strife 

Circling, like the breath of life. 

All things in that sweet abode 

With its own mild brotherhood : — 

They, not it, would change ; and soon 

Every sprite beneath the moon 

V/ould repent its envy vain, 

And the Earth grow young again. 

F. B. Shelley 



FOURTH 325 

CCCXXII 

ODE TO THE WEST IVIND 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic rod, 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! O thou 
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
The winged seeds, whete they lie cold and low. 
Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
Destroyer and Preserver ; Hear, oh hear ! 

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's com- 
motion. 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, 
Angels of rain and lightning ! there are spread 
On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge 
Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 
Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : Oh hear ! 

Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams 
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
Lull'd by the coil of his crj'stalline streams. 
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
Quivering within the wave's intenser day, 



326 BOOK 

All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which v;ear 
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear 
And tremble and despoil themselves : Oh hear ! 

If 1 were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
Than Thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven. 
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
Scarce seem'd a vision, — I would ne'er have striven 
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd 
One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and proud. 

Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is : 
What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone. 
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce, 
My spirit ! be thou me, impetuous one ! 
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, 
Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
And, by the incantation of this verse. 
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth 
The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 

P. B. Shelley 



FOURTH 327 



NATURE AND THE POET 

\uggested by a Picture of Peek Castle in a Storm^ 
painted by Sir Geo7-ge Beaumont 

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! 
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
I saw thee every day ; and all the while 
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! 
So like, so very like, was day to day ! 
Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there ; 
It trembled, but it never pass'd away. 

How perfect was the calm ! It seem'd no sleep. 
No mood, which season takes away, or brings : 
I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. 

Ah ! then — if mine had been the painter's hand 
To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, 
The light that never was on sea or land. 
The consecration, and the Poet's dreani, — 

I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile. 
Amid a world how different from this ! 
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; 
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 

Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house divine 
Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; — 
Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine 
The very sweetest had to thee been given. 

A picture had it been of lasting ease, 
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; 
No motion but the moving tide ; a breeze ; 
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. 



328 BOOK 

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 

Such picture would I at that time have made ; 

And seen the soul of truth in every part, 

A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd. 

So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; 
I have submitted to a new control : 
A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; 
A deep distress hath humanized my soul. 

Not for a moment could I now behold 
A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 
This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 

Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the 

friend 
If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, 
This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; 
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 

'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well, 
Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 

That hulk which labours in the deadly swell. 
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! 

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 

1 love to see the look with which it braves, 
— Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — 

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 

— Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, 
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! 
Such happiness, wherever it be known. 
Is to be pitied ; for 'tis surely blind. 

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer. 
And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here : — 
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 

^K Wordsworth 



FOURTH 329 



CCCXXIV 

THE POET'S DREAM 

On a Poet's lips I slept 

Dreaming like a love-adept 

In the sound his breathing kept ; 

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, 

But feeds on the aerial kisses 

Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses. 

He will watch from dawn to gloom 

The lake-reflecled sun illume 

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, 

Nor heed nor see what things they be — 
But from these create he can 
Forms more real than living Man, 

Nurslings of Immortality ! 

P. B. Shelley 



cccxxv 

GLEN-ALMAIN, THE NARROW GLEN 

In this still place, remote from men. 

Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen ; 

In this still place, where murmurs on 

But one meek streamlet, only one : 

He sang of battles, and the breath 

Of stormy war, and violent death ; 

And should, methinks, when all was past. 

Have rightfully been laid at last 

Where rocks were rudely heap'd, and rent 

As by a spirit turbulent ; 

Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild. 

And everything unreconciled ; 

In some complaining, dim retreat, 

For fear and melancholy meet ; 

But this is calm ; there cannot be 

A more entire tranquillity. 



330 BOOK 

Does then the Bard sleep here indeed ? 
Or is it but a groundless creed ? 
What matters it ?— I blame them not 
Whose fancy in this lonely spot 
Wa= moved ; and in such way express'd 
Their notion of its perfect rest. 
A convent, even a hermit's cell, 
Would break the silence of this Dell • 
It is not quiet, is not ease ; 
But something deeper far than these : 
The separation that is here 
Is of the grave ; and of austere 
Yet happy feelings of the dead : 
And, therefore, was it rightly said 
That Ossian, last of all his race ! 
Lies buried in this lonely place. 

JV. Woj'dsworth 



Th e_World is too m uch wiiiuis,; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
A Ve hav e gi^^n our hearts away,, a sordid boon ! 

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon. 
The winds that will be howling at all hours 
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers. 
For this, for everx things we are out of tune ; 

It moves us not, — Great God ! I'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a c reed Jjutwor n. — 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 
W. Wordsworth 



FOURTH 331 



CCCXXVII 

WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, 
CAMBRIDGE 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd 
(Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense 

And glorious work of fine intelligence ! 

— Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 

Of nicely-calculated less or more : — 

So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense 

These lofty pillars? spread that branching roof 
Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells 
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 

Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; 
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
That they were born for immortality. 

W. Wordswoy-tk 



CCCXXVIII 

ODE ON A GRECL4N URN 

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness. 

Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : 
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 

Of deities or mortals, or of both, 
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady ? 
What men or gods are these ? What maidens loth ? 

What mad pursuit ? What struggle to escape ? 
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? 

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on ; 

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, 
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : 



332 BOOK 

Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave. 

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; 

Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, 

Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve i 

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 

For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 

Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 

Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu ; 
And, happy melodist, unwearied. 

For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
More happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 

For ever warm and still to be enjoy 'd, 
For ever panting, and for ever young ; 
All breathing human passion far above, 

That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, 
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 

To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 

And all her silken flanks with garlands drest ? 
What little town by river or sea shore. 

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel. 
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 

Will silent be ; and not a soul to tell 
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. 

O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 

Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 
With forest branches and the trodden weed ; 

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 
As doth eternity : Cold Pastoral ! 

When old age shall this generation waste. 
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 
' Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' — that is all 
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know 
/. Keats 



FOURTH 333 

CCCXXIX 

YOUTH AND AGE 

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, 
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — 
Both were mine ! Life went a-maying 
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
When I was young ! 
When I was young ? — Ah, woful when ! 
Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! 
This breathing house not built with hands, 
This body that does me grievous wrong, 
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands 
How lightly then it iiash'd along : 
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
On winding lakes and rivers wide, 
That ask no aid of sail or oar. 
That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 
Nought cared this body for wind or weather 
When Youth and I lived in't together. 

Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; 
Friendship is a sheltering tree ; « 

O ! the joys, that came down shower-like. 
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 

Ere I was old ! 
Ere I was old ? Ah woful Ere, 
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here ! 

Youth ! for years so many and sweet, 
'Tis known that Thou and I were one, 
I'll think it but a fond conceit — 

It cannot be, that Thou art gone ! 
Thy vesper-beil-ha±h' not yet toU'd : — 
And thou wert aye a masker bold ! 
Wliat strange disguise hast now put on 
To make believe that Thou art gone ? 

1 see these locks in silvery slips, 
This drooping gait, this alter'd size : 
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips. 
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! 
Life is but Thought : so think I will 
That Youth and I are house-mates still. 



334 BOOK 

Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 
But the tears of mournful eve ! 
Where no hope is, Hfe's a warning 
That only serves to make us grieve 

When we are old : 
— That only serves to make us grieve 
With oft and tedious taking-leave, 
Like some poor nigh-related guest 
That may not rudely be dismist, 
Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while, 
And tells the jest without the smile. 

S. T. Coleridge 



THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS 

We walk'd along, while bright and red 
Uprose the morning sun ; 
And Matthew stopp'd, heiook'd, and said 
' The will of God be done ! ' 

A village schoolmaster was he, 
With hair of glittering gray ; 
As blithe a man as you could see 
(Jn a spring holiday. 

And on that morning, through the grass 
And by the steaming rills 
We travell'd merrily, to pass 
A day among the hills. 

' Our work,' said I, ' was well begun ; 
Then, from thy breast what thought, 
Beneath so beautiful a sun, 
So sad a sigh has brought ? ' 

A second time did Matthew stop ; 
And fixing still his eye 
Upon the eastern mountain-top, 
To me he made reply : 



FOURTH =335 

* Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 
Brings fresh into my mind 

A day like this, which I have left 
Full thirty years behind. 

' And just above yon slope of corn 
Such colours, and no other, 
Were in the sky that April morn, 
Of this the very brother. 

' With rod and line I sued the sport 
Which that sweet season gave', 
And to the church-yard come, stopp'd short 
Beside my daughter's grave. 

' Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 
The pride of all the vale ; 
And then she sang, — she would have been 
A very nightingale. 

* Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; 
And yet I loved her more — 

For so it seem'd, — than till that day 
I e'er had loved before. 

' And turning from her grave, I met, 
Beside the churchyard yew, 
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet 
With points of morning dew. 

' A basket on her head she bare ; 
Her brow was smooth and white : 
To see a child so very fair, 
It was a pure delight ! 

* No fountain from its rocky cave 
E'er tripp'd with foot so free ; 
She seem'd as happy as a wave 

1 hat dances on the sea. 

' There came from me a sigh of pain 
Which I could ill confine ; 
I look'd at her, and look'd again : 
And did not wish her mine ! ' 



336 BOOK 

— Matthew is in his grave, yet now 
Methinks I see him stand 
As at that moment, with a bough 
Of wilding in his hand. 

W. WoTdsworth 



cccxxxi 

TIIE FOUNTAIN 

A Conversalion 

We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 
Affectionate and true, 
A pair of friends, though I was young, 
And Matthew seventy-two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
Beside a mossy seat ; 
And from the turf a fountain broke 
And gurgled at our feet. 

* Now, Matthew ! ' said I, 'let us match 
This water's pleasant tune 
With some old border-song, or catch 
That suits a summer's noon ; 

' Or of the church-clock and the chimes 
Sing here beneath the shade 
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
Which you last April made ! ' 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
The spring beneath the tree ; 
And thus the dear old man replied, 
The gray-hair'd man of glee : 

' No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, 
How merrily it goes ! 
'Twill murmur on a thousand years 
And flow as now ii flows. 



FOURTH 337 

* And here, on this delightful day, 
I cannot choose but think 

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
Beside this fountain's brink. 

' My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
My heart is idly stirr'd, 
For the same sound is in my ears 
Which in those days I heard. 

* Thus fares it still in our decay : 
And yet the wiser mind 

Mourns less for what Age takes away. 
Than what it leaves behind. 

' The blackbird amid leafy trees. 
The lark above the hill, 
Let loose their carols when they please. 
Are quiet when they will. 

' With Nature never do they wage 
A foolish strife ; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 
Is beautiful and free : 

* But we are press'd by heavy laws ; 
And often, glad no more, 

We wear a face of joy, because 
We have been glad of yore. 

* If there be one who need bemoan 
His kindred laid in earth. 

The household hearts that were his own--*' 
It is the man of mirth. t 

' My days, my friend, are almost gone, 
My life has been approved. 
And many love me ; but by none 
Am I enough beloved.' 

* Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
The man who thus complains 1 

I live and sing my idle songs 
Upon these happy plains : 
z 



338 BOOK 

* And Matthew, for thy children dead 
I'll be a son to thee ! ' 
At this he grasp'd my hand and said, 
'Alas ! that cannot be.' 

— We rose up from the fountain-side ; 
And down the smooth descent 
Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; 
And through the wood we went ; 

And ere we came to Leonard's rock 
He sang those witty rhymes 
About the crazy old church-clock, 
And the bewilder'd chimes. 

PF. lVo?'dsworih 



CCOXXXII 

THE RIVER OF LIFE 

The more we live, more brief appear 

Our life's succeeding stages : 
A day to childhood seems a year, 

And years like passing ages. 

The gladsome current of our youth, 

Ere passion yet disorders, 
Steals lingering like a river smooth 

Along its grassy borders. 

But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, 
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 

Ye Stars, that measure life to man, 
Why seem your courses quicker ? 

When joys have lost their bloom and breath 

And life itself is vapid, 
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, 

Feel we its tide more rapid ? 

It may be strange — yet who would change 
Time's course to slower speeding, 

When one by one our friends have gone 
And left our bosoms bleedinp- ? 



FOURTH 339 

Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; 
And those of youth, a. seeming length, 

Proportioned to their sweetness. 

7\ Campbell 



' r 



CCCXXXIII 

THE HUMAN SEASONS 

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ; 
There are four seasons in the mind of man : /T / 

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear " ' 7^ ' 

Takes in all beauty with an easy span : 

He has his Summer, when luxuriously 
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves 
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high 
Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves 

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 

He furleth close ; contented so to look 

On mists in idleness— to let fair things \ ^ 

Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. 

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature. 
Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 

J. Keats 

CCCXXXIV 

A DIRGE 

Rough wind, that meanest loud 

Grief too sad for song ; 
Wild wind, when sullen cloud 

Knells all the night long ; 
Sad storm whose tears are vain, 
Bare woods whose branches stain, 
Deep caves and dreary main, — 

Wail for the world's wrong ' 

'P. B. Shelley 
z 2 



340 BOOK 



cccxxxv 

TH RENOS 

O World ! O Life ! O Time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood before f 
When will return the glory of your prime ? 
No more — Oh, never more ! 

Out of the da.y and night 
A joy has taken flight : 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
No more — Oh, never more ! 

P. B. Shelley 



cccxxxvi 

THE TROSACHS 

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, 
But were an apt confessional for One 
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 
That Life is but a tale of morning grass 

Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase 
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities. 
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glas 

Untouch^, unbreathed upon : — Thrice happy quest, 
If from a golden perch of aspen spray 
(October's workmanship to rival May), 

The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 
That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, 
Lulling tne year, with all its cares, to rest ! 

W. Wordsworth 



FOURTH 341 



CCCXXXVII 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began, 
So is it now I am a man, 
So be it when I shall grow old 

Or let me die ! 
The Child is father of the Man : 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

JV. Wordsworth 



cccxxxviii , --^^ . , . 

ODE ON INTIMA TIONS OF I MM OR TALIT V 

FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY 

CHILDHOOD 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and every common sight 
To me did seem 
Apparell'd in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — 
Turn wheresoe'er I may, 
By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more; 

The rainbow comes and goes, 

And lovely is the rose ; 

The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 

Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound. 



342 



BOOK 



To me alone there came a thought of grief : 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep j— 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong : 
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep. 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou child of joy 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 

Shepherd-boy ! 
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal. 
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
While Earth herself is adorning 
This sweet May-morning ; 
And the children are culHng 

On every side 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warn 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there's a tree, of many, one, 
A single field which I have look'd upon, 
Both of them speak of something that is gone : 
The pansy at my feet 
Doth the same tale repeat : 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting 
And Cometh from afar ; 



FOURTH 343 

Not in entire foigetfulness, 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the tast 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 
And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her f)wn ; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind. 
And, even with something of a mother's mind 

And no unworthy aim, 
The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, 

Forget the glories he hath known 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
"With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human lifCj 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; 

A wedding or a fesii\al, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 

And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song ; 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside. 

And with new joy and pride 



344 



BOOK 



The little actor cons another part ; 
Filling from time to time his ' humorous stage ' 
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
That life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ; 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep. 
Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — 

Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! 

On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toihng all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
Broods like ihe day, a master o'er a slave, 
A Presence which is not to be put by ; 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 

O joy ! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live, 

That Nature yet remembers 

What was so fugitive ! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not indeed 
For that which is most worthy to be blest, 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast 

— Not for these I raise 

The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 



FOURTH 345 

Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a gailty thing surprized : 
But for those first affections. 
Those shadowy recollections, 

Which, be they what they may. 
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, 
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing ; 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal .Silence : truths that wake, 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 

Nor man nor boy 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence, in a season of calm weather 
Though inland far we be, 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither ; 
Can in a moment travel thither — 
And see the children sport upon the shore. 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song I 
And let the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound ! 
We, in thought, will join your throng 
Ye that pipe and ye that play, 
\'e that through your hearts to-day 
Feel the gladness of the May ! 

What though the radiance which was once so bright 

Be now for ever taken from my sight. 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 
We will grieve not, rather fi^nd 
Strength in what remains behind ; 
In the primal sympathy 
Which having been must ever be ; 



346 BOOK FOURTH 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 
Out of human suffering ; 
In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 

Forbode not any severing of our loves ! 

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 

I only have relinquish'd one delight 

To live beneath your more habitual sway : 

I love the brooks which down their channels fret 

Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as tliey ; 

The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live. 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears. 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

PV. Words'wo7'th 



cccxxxix 

Music, when soft voices die, 
Vibrates in the memory — 
Odours, when sweet violets sicken, 
Live within the sense they quicken. 

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead. 
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed ; 
And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone, 
Love itself shall slumber on. 

P. B. Shelley 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 



2rj}e ffioltim SCreasurg 
atititttonal iloctttjS 



CCCXL 



I strove with none, for none was worth my strife 
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art ; 

I warmed both hands before the fire of life ; 
It sinks, and I am ready to depart. 

W. S. Landor 



ROSE AYLMER 

Ah what avails the sceptred race ! 

Ah what the form divine ! 
"What every virtue, every grace ! 

Rose Aylmer, all were thine. 
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 

May weep, but never see, 
A night of memories and of sighs 

I consecrate to thee. 

W. S. Landor 

CCCXLII 

TO ROBERT BROWNING 

There is delight in singing, tho' none hear 
Beside the singer : and there is delight 
In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone 
And see the praised far off him, far above. 



350 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 



Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, 

Therefore on him no speech ! and brief for thee, 

Browning ! Since Chaucer was alive and hale. 

No man hath walked along our roads with step 

So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue 

So varied in discourse. But warmer climes 

Give brighter plumage, stronger wing : the breeze 

Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on 

Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where 

The Siren waits thee, singing sing for song. 

IV. S. Landor 

CCCXLIII 

Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak 
Four not exempt from pride some future day. 

Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek 
Over my open volume you will say, 
'This man loved mc!'' then rise and trip away. 

W. S. Landor 

CCCXLIV 

RONDEAU 

Jenny kissed me when we met, 

Jumping from the chair she sat in ; 

Time, you thief, who love to get 

' Sweets into your list, put that in ! 

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, 

Say that health and wealth have missed me, 

Say I'm growing old, but add, 

Jenny kiss'd me. /. H. Leigh Hunt 



CCCXLV 

THREE MEN OF GOTHAM 

Seamen three ! What men be ye ? 

Gotham's three wise men we be. 
Whither in your bowl so free ? 

To rake the moon from out the sea. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 351 

The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. 
And our ballast is old wine. 
And your ballast is old wine. 

Who art thou, so fast adrift? 

I am he they call Old Care. 
Here on board we will thee lift. 

No : I may not enter there. 
Wherefore so ? 'Tis Jove's decree, 
In a bowl Care may not be. 
In a bowl Care may not be. 

Fear ye not the waves that roll ? 

No : in charmed bowl we swim. 
What the charm that floats the bowl ? 

Water may not pass the brim. 
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. 
And our ballast is old wine. 
And your ballast is old wine. 

T. L. Peacock 



CCCXLYI 

AND SHALL TRELAWNY DIE? 

A good sword and a trusty hand ! 

A merry heart and true ! 
King James's men shall understand 

W'hat Cornish lads can do. 

And have they fixed the where and when ? 

And shall Trelawny die ? 
Here's twenty thousand Cornish men 

Will know the reason why ! 

Out spake their captain brave and bold, 

A merry wight was he : 
*If London Tower were Michael's hold, 

We'll set Trelawny free ! 



352 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

* We'll cross the Tamar, land to land, 

The Severn is no stay,— 
With ''one and all," and hand in hand, 

And who shall bid us nay? 

' And when we come to London Wall, 

A pleasant sight to view, 
Come forth ! Come forth, ye cowards all, 

Here' s men as good as you. 

'Trelawny he 's in keep and hold, 

Trelawny he may die ;— 
But here 's twenty thousand Cornish bold 

Will know the reason why ! ' 

R. S. Hawker 



CCCXLVII 

THE SHAN DON BELLS 

With deep affection. 
And recollection, 
I often think of 

Those Shandon bells. 
Whose sounds so wild would. 
In the days of childhood, 
Fling round my cradle 

Their magic spells. 
On this I ponder 
Where'er I wander, 
And thus grow fonder, 

Sweet Cork, of thee ; 
With thy bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the River Lee. 
I've heard bells chiming 
Full many a clime in. 
Tolling sublime in 

Cathedral shrine, 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 

While at a glibe rate 

Brass tongues would vibrate — 

But all their music 

Spoke naught like thine ; 
For memory, dwelling 
On each proud swelling 
Of thy belfry knelling 

Its bold notes free, 
Made the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the River Lee. 
I've heard bells tolling 
Old Adrian's Mole in, 
Their thunder rolling 

From the Vatican, 
And cymbals glorious 
Swinging uproarious 
In the gorgeous turrets 

Of Notre Dame : 
But thy sounds were sweeter 
Than the dome of Peter 
Flings o'er the Tiber, 

Pealing solemnly ; — 

! the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the River Lee. 
There's a bell in Moscow, 
While on tower and kiosk O 
In Saint Sophia 

The Turkman gets ; 
And loud in air 
Calls men to prayer 
From the tapering summit 

Of tall minarets. 
Such empty phantom 

1 freely grant them ; 
But there is an anthem 

More dear to me, — 

2A 



353 



354 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

'Tis the bells of Shandon 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 
or the River Lee. 

F. Mahony (Father Prout) 



FROM 'SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE' 

CCCXLVIII 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung 

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, 
Who each one in a gracious hand appears 

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young : ■ 

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, 
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, 

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 

A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, 
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move 

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair ; 
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, . . . 

'Guess now who holds thee?' — 'Death,' I said. 
But there, 
The silver answer rang, . . . 'Not Death, but 
Love.' 

CCCXLIX 

What can I give thee back, O liberal 

And princely giver, who hast brought the gold 
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, 

And laid them on the outside of the wall 

For such as I to take or leave withal. 
In unexpected largesse ? am I cold. 
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold 

High gifts, I render nothing back at all ? 

Not so ; not cold, — but very poor instead. 

Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 355 

The colours from my life, and left so dead 
And pale a stufif, it were not fitl}^ done 

To give the same as pillow to thy head. 
Go farther ! let it serve to trample on. 



Yet love, mere love, is beautiful indeed 

And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, 

Let temple burn, or flax. And equal light 
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed. 
And love is fire ; and when I say at need 

/ love thee . . . mark ! . . . 7 love thee / ... in thy sight 

I stand transfigured, glorified aright, 
With conscience of the new rays that proceed 
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low 

In love, when love the lowest : meanest creatures 
Who love God, God accepts while loving so. 

And what I feel, across the inferior features 
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show 

How that great work of Love enhances Nature's. 



CCCLI 

If thou must love me, let it be for naught 
Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
' I love her for her smile . . . her look . . . her way 

Of speaking gently, ... for a trick of thought 

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought 
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day ' — 
For these things in themselves. Beloved, may 

Be changed, or change for thee, — and love, so 
wrought. 

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 

Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, — 

A creature might forget to weep, who bore 
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby ! 

But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. 



356 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

CCCLII 

How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 
I love thee to the level of every day's 

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; 
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. 
I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints,— -I love thee v/ith the breath, 
Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death. 

E. B. Browning 

CCCLIII 

A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT 

What was he doing, the great god Pan, 

Down in the reeds by the river? 
Spreading ruin and scattering ban. 

Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, 
And breaking the golden lilies afloat 
With the dragon-fly on the river. 

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 

From the deep cool bed of the river : 
The limpid water turbidly ran. 
And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 
And the dragon-fly had fled away, 
Ere he brought it out of the river. 

High on the shore sate the great god Pan, 

While turbidly flowed the river ; 
And hacked and hewed as a great god can. 
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, 
Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed 
To prove it fresh from the river. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 357 

He cut it short, did the great god Pan 
(How tall it stood in the river !), 
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, 
Steadily from the outside ring, 
And notched the poor dry empty thing 
In holes, as he sate by the river. 

*This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan 

(Laughed while he sate by the river), 
'The only way, since gods began 

To make sweet music, they could succeed.' 
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, 
He blew in power by the river. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan ! 

Piercing sweet by the river ! 
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! 
The sun on the hill forgot to die. 
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 
Came back to dream on the river. 

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, 
To laugh as he sits by the river, 
Making a poet out of a man : 
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — 
For the reed which grows nevermore again 
As a reed with the reeds in the river. 

E. B. Browning 

CCCLIV 

I do not love thee ! — no ! I do not love thee ! 
And yet when thou art absent I am sad ; 

And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, 
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad. 

I do not love thee ! — yet, I know not why, 
Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me : 

And often in my solitude I sigh 
That those I do love are not more like thee ! 



358 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

I do not love thee ! — yet, when thou art gone, 
I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear) 

Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone 
Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear. 



I do not love thee ! — j^et thy speaking ej^es. 
With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue, 

Between me and the midnight heaven arise, 
Oftener than any eyes I ever knew. 



I know I do not love thee ! yet, alas ! 
Others will scarcely trust my candid heart ; 

And oft I catch them smiling as they pass, 
Because they see me gazing where thou art. 

Carolina E. S. Norton 



RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM OF 
NAISHAPUR 



Awake ! for Morning in the Bowl of Night 

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight : 

And Lo ! the Hunter of the East has caught 
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light. 

2 

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky 
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, 

'Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup 
'Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dr}-.' 

3 
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before 
The Tavern shouted — * Open then the Door ! 

'You know how little while we have to stay, 
'And, once departed, may return no more.' 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 359 

4 
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring 
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling : 

The Bird of Time has but a little way 
To fly — and Lo ! the Bird is on the Wing. 

5 
And look — a thousand Blossoms with the Day 
Woke — and a thousand scatter'd into Clay : 

And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose 
Shall take Jamshj'd and Kaikobdd away. 

6 
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown, 
That just divides the desert from the sown, 

Where name of Slave and Sultdn scarce is known, 
And pity Sultdn Mdhmtjd on his Throne. 

7 
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, 
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou 

Beside me singing in the Wilderness — 
And Wilderness is Paradise enow. 

8 
* How sweet is mortal Sovranty ! ' — think some : 
Others — ' How blest the Paradise to come ! ' 

Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest; 
Oh, the brave ISIusic of a distant Drum ! 

9 
Look to the Rose that blows about us — 'Lo, 
'Laughing,' she says, 'into the World I blow: 

' At once the silken Tassel of my Purse 
'Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.' 



The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon 
Turns Ashes — or it prospers ; and anon. 

Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face 
Lighting a little Hour or two — is gone. 



36o ADDITIONAL POEMS 



And those who husbanded the Golden Grain, 
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain, 

Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd 
As, buried once, Men want dug up again. 



Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai 

Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, 

How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp 
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way. 

13 
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep 
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep ; 
And Bahram, that great Hunter — the Wild Ass 
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep. 

14 
I sometimes think that never blows so red 
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled ; 

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears 
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovel}^ Head. 

15 
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green 
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean — 
Ah, lean upon it lightly ! for who knows 
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen ! 

16 
Ah, my Beloved, .fill the Cup that clears 
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears — 
To-morrow ? — Why, To-morrow I may be 
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years. 

17 
Lo ! some we loved, the loveliest and best 
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, 

Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before. 
And one by one crept sUently to Rest. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 361 

18 
And we, that now make merry in the Room 
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, 

Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth 
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch — for whom? 

19 
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, 
Before we too into the Dust descend ; 

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie. 
Sans \Mne, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End ! 

20 
Oh, come with old Khay3^am, and leave the Wise 
To talk ; one thing is certain, that Life flies ; 
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies ; 
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies. 



Myself when young did eagerly frequent 
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument 

About it and about : but evermore 
Came out by the same Door as in I went. 



With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow. 
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow : 

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd — 
*I came like Water, and like Wind I go.' 

23 
Into this Universe, and why not knowing. 
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing : 
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, 
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing. 

24 
What, without asking, hither hurried whence ? 
And, without asking, whither hurried hence ! 

Another and another Cup to drown 
The Memory of this Impertinence ! 



362 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

25 
Up from Earth's Centre, through the Seventh Gate 
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, 

And many Knots unravel'd by the Road ; 
But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate. 

26 
There was a Door to which I found no Key : 
There was a Veil past which I could not see : 

Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee 
There seem'd — and then no more of Thee and Me. 

27 
Ah, fill the Cup : — what boots it to repeat 
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet : 

Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday, 
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet ! 

28 
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste, 
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste — 

The Stars are setting and the Carav^an 
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing — Oh, make haste ! 

29 
While the Rose blows along the River Brink, 
With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink : 

And when the Angel with his darker Draught 
Draws up to Thee — take that, and do not shrink. 

30 
The Moving Finger writes ; and, having writ, 
Moves on : nor all thy Piety nor Wit 

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, 
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. 

31 
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, 
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, 

Lift not thy hands to It for help — for It 
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 363 

32 
And this I know : whether the one True Light 
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, 
One glimpse of It within the Tavern caught 
Better than in the Temple lost outright. 

33 
Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin 
Beset the Road I was to wander in, 

Thou wilt not with Predestination round 
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin? 

34 
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, 
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake ; 
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man 
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give — and take ! 

35 
Listen again. One evening at the Close 
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose. 
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone 
With the clay Population round in Rows. 

36 
And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot 
Some could articulate, while others not : 

And suddenl}' one more impatient cried — 
' Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot ? ' 

37 
Then said another — ' Surely not in vain 
*My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en, 

'That He who subtly wrought me into Shape 
'Should stamp me back to common Earth again.' 

38 
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, 
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour — well, 

I often wonder what the Vintners buy 
One-half so precious as the Goods they sell. 



364 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

39 
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose ! 
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should 
close ! 
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, 
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows! 

40 
Ah, Love ! could thou and I with Fate conspire 
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire. 
Would not we shatter it to bits — and then 
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Eesire ! 

41 
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass 
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass, 

And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot 
Where I made one — turn down an empty Glass ! 

E. FitzGerald 

CCCLVI 

THE MEN OF OLD 

I know not that the men of old 

Were better than men now, 
Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, 

Of more ingenuous brow : 
I heed not those who pine for force 

A ghost of Time to raise. 
As if they thus could check the course 

Of these appointed days. 

Still it is true, and over true. 

That I delight to close 
This book of life self- wise and new. 

And let my thoughts repose 
On all that humble happiness, 

The world has since forgone, — 
The daylight of contentedness 

That on those faces shone ! 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 365 

With rights, tho' not too closely scanned, 

Enjoyed, as far as known, — 
With wdll by no reverse unmanned, — 

With pulse of even tone, — 
They from to-day and from to-night 

Expected nothing more, 
Than yesterday and yesternight 

Had proffered them before. 

To them was life a simple art 

Of duties to be done, 
A game where each man took his part, 

A race where all must run ; 
A battle whose great scheme and scope 

They little cared to know. 
Content, as men at arms, to cope 

Each with his fronting foe. 

Man now his Virtue's diadem 

Puts on and proudly wears, 
Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them, 

Like instincts, unawares : 
Blending their souls' sublimest needs 

With tasks of every day. 
They went about their gravest deeds. 

As noble bo3'S at play. — 

And what if Nature's fearful wound 

They did not probe and bare, 
For that their spirits never swooned 

To watch the misery there, — 
For that their love but flowed more fast, 

Their charities more free, 
Not conscious what mere drops they cast 

Into the evdl sea. 

A man's best things are nearest him. 

Lie close about his feet, 
It is the distant and the dim 

That we are sick to greet : 



366 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

For flowers that grow our hands beneath 

We struggle and aspire, — 
Our hearts must die, except they breathe 

The air of fresh Desire. 

Yet, Brothers, who up Reason's hill 

Advance with hopeful cheer, — 
O ! loiter not, those heights are chill, 

As chill as they are clear ; 
And still restrain your haughty gaze, 

The loftier that ye go. 
Remembering distance leaves a haze 

On all that lies below. 

Lord Houghton 

CCCLVII 

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER 

It is the miller's daughter. 

And she is grown so dear, so dear, 

That I would be the jewel 
That trembles at her ear : 

For hid in ringlets day and night, 

I'd touch her neck so warm and white. 

And I would be the girdle 

About her dainty dainty waist. 

And her heart would beat against me 
In sorrow and in rest : 

And I should know if it beat right, 

I'd clasp it round so close and tight. 

And I would be the necklace. 
And all day long to fall and rise 

Upon her balmy bosom, 

With her laughter or her sighs, 

And I would lie so light, so light, 

I scarce should be unclasp'd at night. 

Lord Tennyson 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 367 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 

Break, break, break, 

On thy cold grey stones, O Sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me, 

O well for the fisherm.an's boy, 

That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

O well for the sailor lad, 
That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 

And the stately ships go on 

To their haven under the hill ; 
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me. 

Lord Tennyson 

CCCLIX 

THE BROOK 

I come from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirt}^ hills I hurry down. 

Or slip between the ridges, 
Ey twenty thorps, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow 

To join the brimming river. 
For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 



368 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

I chatter over stony ways. 
In little sharps and trebles, 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I wind about, and in and out. 
With here a blossom sailing 

And here and there a lusty trout, 
And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 

I slide by hazel covers ; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows ; 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 369 

I murmur under moon and stars 

In brambly wildernesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars ; 

I loiter round mv cresses ; 



And out again I curve and flow- 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

Lord Tennyson 



As thro' the land at e^-e we went, 
And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, 

We fell out, my wife and I, 

We fell out, I know not why, 
And kiss'd again with tears. 

And blessings on the falling out 

That all the more endears, 
When we fall out wth those we love 

And kiss again with tears ! 

For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other j-ears. 
There above the little grave, 
O there above the little grave, 

We kiss'd again mth tears. 

Lord Tennyson 

CCCLXI 

The splendour falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story : 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.' 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying 



370 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
O sweet and far from cliff and scar 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens repl3ang : 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky. 

They faint on hill or field or river : 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
And grow for ever and for ever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying dying. 

. Lord Tennyson 



Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, 
Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, 
That brings our friends up from the underworld, 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge ; 
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; 
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remember'd kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd 
On hps that are for others ; deep as love. 
Deep as first love, and wld with all regret ; 
O Death in Life, the days that are no more. 

Lord Tennyson 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 371 

CCCLXIII 

O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, 
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, 
And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. 

O tell her. Swallow, thou that knowest each, 
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, 
And dark and true and tender is the North. 

O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light 
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill. 
And cheep and tmtter twenty million loves. 

O were I thou that she might take me in, 
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart 
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. 

Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love. 
Delaying as the tender ash delays 
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green ? 

O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown : 
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, 
But in the North long since my nest is made. 

O tell her, brief is life but love is long. 
And brief the sun of summer in the North, 
And brief the moon of beauty in the South. 

O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, 
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, 
And teU her, tell her, that I follow thee. 

Lord Tennyson 

CCCLXIV 

Ring out, ^\^ld bells, to the wild sky. 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night ; 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 



372 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause. 

And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin. 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite ; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease ; 

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 

Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free. 

The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land. 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Lord Tennyson 

CCCLXV 

Come into the garden, Maud, 

For the black bat, night, has flown, 

Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 373 

.And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad," 
And the musk of the roses blown. 

For a breeze of morning moves, 

And the planet of Love is on high, 
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves 

On a bed of daffodil sky, 
To faint in the light of the sun she loves, 

To faint in his light, and to die. 

All night have the roses heard 

The flute, violin, bassoon ; 
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd 

To the dancers dancing in tune ; 
Till a silence fell with the waking bird. 

And a hush with the setting moon. 

I said to the lily, 'There is but one 

With whom she has heart to be gay. 
When will the dancers leave her alone ? 

She is weary of dance and play.' 
Now half to the setting moon are gone, 

And half to the rising day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 

I said to the rose, 'The brief night goes 

In babble and revel and wine. 
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, 

For one that wHl never be thine ? 
But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, 

'For ever and ever, mine.' 

And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 

As the music clash'd in the hall ; 
And along by the garden lake I stood, 

For I heard your rivulet fall 
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, 

Our wood, that is dearer than all ; 



374 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet 
That whenever a March-wind sighs 

He sets the jewel-print of your feet 
In violets blue as your eyes, 

To the woody hollows in which we meet 
And the valleys of Paradise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long rnilk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 

Knowing your promise to me ; 
The lilies and roses were all awake, 

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee. 

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, 
Come hither, the dances are done, 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. 
Queen lily and rose in one ; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, 
To the flowers, and be their sun. 

There has fallen a spendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
She is coming, my dove, m}^ dear ; 

She is coming, my life, my fate ; 
The red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near ' ; 

And the white rose weeps, ' She is late ' ; 
The larkspur listens, ' I hear, I hear ' ; 

And the lily whispers, ' I wait. ' 

She is coming, my own, my sweet ; 

Were it ever so airy a tread, 
My heart would hear her and beat, 

Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 
My dust would hear her and beat, 

Had I lain for a century dead ; 
Would start and tremble under her feet, 

And blossom in purple and red. 

Lord Tennyson 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 375 

CCCLXVI 

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, 
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : 
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. 

It is the little rift within the lute, 
That by and by will make the music mute, 
And ever widening slowly silence all. 

The little rift within the lover's lute, 
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, 
That rotting inward slowly moulders all. 

It is not worth the keeping : let it go : 
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. 
And trust me not at all or all in all. 

Lord Tennyson 

CCCLXVII 

The year 's at the spring. 
And day 's at the morn ; 
Morning 's at seven ; 
The hill-side 's dew-pearled ; 

The lark 's on the wing ; 
The snail 's on tlie thorn : 
God 's in his heaven — 
All 's right v/ith the world ! 

R. Browning 

CCCLXVIII 

Give her but a least excuse to love me ! 

When — where — ■ 
How — can this arm establish her above me, 

If fortune fixed her as my lady there, 
There already, to eternally reprove me ? 

('Hist!' — said Kate the queen; 
But 'Oh' — cried the maiden, binding her tresses, 



376 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

' 'Tis only a page that carols unseen, 
* Crumbling your hounds their messes ! ') 

Is she wronged ? — To the rescue of her honour, 

My heart ! 
Is she poor? — What costs it to be styled a donor? 

Merely an earth to cleave, a sea to part. 
But that fortune should have thrust all this upon 
her! 
(' Nay, list ! ' — bade Kate the queen ; 
And still cried the maiden, binding her tresses, 

' 'Tis only a page that carols unseen, 
' Fitting your hawks their jesses ! ' ) 

R. Browning 

CCCLXIX 

Day. 

Faster and more fast, 
O'er night's brim, day boils at last : 
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim 
Where spurting and suppressed it lay ; 
For not a froth-flake touched the rim 
Of yonder gap in the solid gray 
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away ; 
But forth one wavelet, then another, curled, 
Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed. 
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast 
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the 
world. 

R. Browning 

CCCLXX 

THE LOST LEADER 

Just for a handful of silver he left us. 
Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 

Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, 
Lost all the others she lets us devote ; 

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, 
So much was theirs who so little allowed : 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 377 

How all our copper had gone for his service ! 

Rags — were they purple, his heart had been 
proud ! 
We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured 
him, 
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, 
Learned his great language, caught his clear accents. 

Made him our pattern to live and to die ! 
Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us. 

Burns, Shelley, were with us, — they watch from 
their graves ! 
He alone breaks from the van and the freemen. 
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves ! 



We shall march prospering, — not thro' his pres- 
ence ; 
Songs may inspirit us, — not from his lyre ; 
Deeds vnW be done, — while he boasts his quiescence. 
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire : 
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, 
One task more declined, one more footpath 
untrod. 
One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels. 

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God ! 
Life's night begins : let him never come back to us ! 

There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain, 
Forced praise on our part — the glimmer of twi- 
light. 
Never glad confident morning again ! 
Best fight on well, for we taught him, — strike 
gallantly. 
Menace our heart ere we master his owti ; 
Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, 
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne ! 

R. Browning 



378 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

CCCLXXI 

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD 

Oh, to be in England now that April's there. 

And whoever wakes in England sees, some morn« 

ing, unaware, 
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf 
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, 
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 

In England — now ! 

And after April, when IMa}- follows, 
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows ! 
Hark, where nw blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 
Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's 
edge — 
That's the Avise thrush ; he sings each song twice 
over. 
Lest you should think he never could recapture 

The first fine careless rapture ! 
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, 
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew 
The buttercups, the little children's dower 
— Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! 

R. Broivfiing 

CCCLXXII 

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA 

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincejit to the North-West 

died away ; 
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into 

Cadiz Bay ; 
Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar 

lay; 
In the dimmest North-East distance, dawned 

Gibraltar grand and grey ; 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 379 

' Here and here did England help me : how can I 

help England ? ' — say, 
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to 

praise and pray, 
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. 

R. Browning 

CCCLXXIII 

MISCONCEPTIONS 

This is a spray the Bird clung to, 

Making it blossom with pleasure 
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, 
Fit for her nest and her treasure. 
Oh, what a hope beyond measure 
Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung 

to, — 
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to ! 

This is a heart the Queen leant on. 

Thrilled in a minute erratic, 
Ere the true bosom she bent on, 
Meet for love's regal dalmatic. 
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic 
W^as the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on — 
Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on ! 

R. Browning 

cccLxxrv 
A WOMAN'S LAST WORD 

Let's contend no more. Love, 

Strive nor weep : 
All be as before, Love, 

— Only sleep ! 

What so wild as words are? 

I and thou 
In debate, as birds are. 

Hawk on bough ! 



38o ADDITIONAL POEMS 

See the creature stalking 
While we speak ! 

Hush and hide the talking, 
Cheek on cheek ! 



What so false as truth is, 
, False to thee? 
Where the serpent's tooth is 
Shun the tree — 

Where the apple reddens 

Never pry — 
Lest we lose our Edens, 

Eve and i. 

Be a god and hold me 

With a charm I 
Be a man and fold me 

With thine arm ! 

Teach me, only teach, Love ! 

As I ought 
I will speak thy speech, Love, 

Think thy thought- 
Meet, if thou require it, 

Both demands, 
Laying flesh and spirit 

In thy hands. 

That shall be to-morrow 

Not to-night : 
I must bury sorrow 

Out of sight : 

— Must a little weep, Love, 

(Foolish me !) 
And so fall asleep, Love, 

Loved by thee. 

R. Browning 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 381 

CCCLXXV 

RABBI BEN EZRA 

I 
Grow old along with me ! 
The best is yet to be, 
The last of life, for which the first was made : 
Our times are in His hand 
Who saith ' A whole I planned. 
Youth shows but half ; trust God : see all, nor be 
afraid!' 



Not that, amassing flowers, 

Youth sighed ' Which rose make ours, 
Which lily leave and then as best recall ? ' 

Not that, admiring stars. 

It yearned ' Nor Jove, nor Mars ; 
Mine be some figured flame which blends, tran- 
scends them all ! ' 

3 

Not for such hopes and fears 

Annulling youth's brief years, 
Do I remonstrate : folly wide the mark ! 

Rather I prize the doubt 

Low kinds exist without, 
Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. 

4 
Poor vaunt of life indeed, 
Were man but formed to feed 
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast : 
Such feasting ended, then 
As sure an end to men ; 
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the 
maw-crammed beast? 

5 
Rejoice we are allied 
To That which doth provide 



382 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

And not partake, effect and not receive ! 

A spark disturbs our clod ; 

Nearer we hold of God 
Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must 
believe. 

6 

Then, welcome each rebuff 

That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go ! 

Be our joys three-parts pain ! 

Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; 
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge 
the throe ! 

7 
For thence, — a paradox 
Which comforts while it mocks, — 
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : 
What I aspired to be, 
And was not, comforts me : 
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' 
the scale. 



What is he but a brute 

Whose flesh hath soul to suit, 
Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? 

To man, propose this test — 

Thy body at its best, 
How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? 

9 
Yet gifts should prove their use : 
I own the Past profuse 
Of power each side, perfection every turn : 
Eyes, ears took in their dole, 
Brain treasured up the whole ; 
Should not the heart beat once 'How good to live 
and learn ' ? 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 383 

10 
Not once beat ' Praise be Thine ! 
I see the whole design, 
I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too : 
Perfect I call Thy plan : 
Thanks that I was a man ! 
Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what Thou 
shalt do ! ' 



For pleasant is this flesh ; 

Our soul in its rose-mesh 
Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest : 

Would we some prize might hold 

To match those manifold 
Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as we did 
best ! 



Let us not always say 
' Spite of this flesh to-day 
I strove, made head, gained ground upon the 
whole!' 
As the bird wings and sings, 
Let us cry 'All good things 
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh 
helps soul ! ' 

13 
Therefore I suiumon age 
To grant youth's heritage, 
Life's struggle having so far reached its term : 
Thence shall I pass, approved 
A man, for ay removed 
From the developed brute; a God though in the 
germ. 

14 
And I shall thereupon 
Take rest, ere I be gone 
Once more on my adventure brave and new : 



384 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Fearless and unperplexed, 
When I wage battle next. 
What weapons to select, what armour to indue. 



Youth ended, I shall try 

My gain or loss thereby ; 
Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold : 

And I shall weigh the same, 

Give life its praise or blame : 
Young, all lay in dispute ; I shall know, being old. 

16 

For note, when evening shuts, 

A certain moment cuts 
The deed off, calls the glory from the grey : 

A whisper from the west 

Shoots — 'Add this to the rest. 
Take it and try its worth : here dies another day. ' 

17 
So, still within this life, 
Though lifted o'er its strife, 
Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, 
'This rage was right i' the main. 
That acquiescence vain : 
The Future I may face now I have proved the 
Past.' 

18 
For more is not reserved 
To man, with soul just nerved 
To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : 
Here, work enough to watch 
The Master work, and catch 
Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true 
play. 

As it was better, youth 
Should strive, through acts uncouth, 
Toward making, than repose on aught found made ; 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 385 

So, better, age, exempt 
From strife, should know, than tempt 
Further. Thou waitedst age; wait death nor be 
afraid ! 



Enough now, if the Right 

And Good and Infinite 
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own. 

With knowledge absolute, 

Subject to no dispute 
From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel 
alone. 

21 
Be there, for once and all, 
Severed great minds from small. 
Announced to each his station in the Past ! 
Was I, the world arraigned, 
Were the}^, my soul disdained. 
Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace 
at last ! 

22 

Now, who shall arbitrate ? 

Ten men love what I hate, 
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive ; 

Ten, who in ears and e3'es 

Match me : we all surmise. 
They, this thing, and I, .that : whom shall my soul 
believe ? 

Not on the wdgar mass 

Called ' work,' must sentence pass. 
Things done, that took the e3^e and had the price ; 

O'er which, from level stand. 

The low world laid its hand, 
Found straightway to its mind, could value in a 
trice : 

2C 



386 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

24 
But all, the world's coarse thumb 
And finger failed to plumb, 
So passed in making up the main account ; 
All instincts immature, 
All purposes unsure. 
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's 
amount : 

25 
Thoughts hardly to be packed 
Into a narrow act, 
Fancies that broke through language and escaped; 
All I could never be. 
All, men ignored in me. 
This, I was worth to God, Avhose wheel the pitcher 
shaped. 

26 
Aye, note that Potter's wheel, 
That metaphor ! and feel 
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — 
Thou, to whom fools propound, 
When the wine makes its round, 
' Since life fleets, all is change ; the Past gone, seise 
to-day ! ' 

27 
Fool ! All that is, at all. 
Lasts ever, past recall ; 
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure : 
What entered into thee, 
That was, is, and shall be : 
Time's \v'H<-el runs back or stops; Potter and clay 
enaure. 

28 
He fixed thee mid this dance 
Of plastic circumstance. 
This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest : 
Machinery just meant • 
To give thy soul its bent, 
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufiiciently impressed. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 387 

29 

What though the earlier grooves 

Which ran the laughing loves 
Around thy base, no longer pause and press? 

What though, about thy rim, 

Skull-things in order grim 
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? 

30 
Look not thou down but up ! 
To uses of a cup, 
The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, 
The new wine's foaming flow, 
The Master's lips aglow ! 
Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou 
with earth's wheel? 

31 
But I need, now as then. 
Thee, God, who mouldest men ; 
And since, not even while the whirl was worst, 
Did I, — to the wheel of life 
With shapes and colours rife, 
Bound dizzily, — mistake my end, to slake Thy 
thirst : 

32 
So, take and use Thy work ! 
Amend what flaws may lurk, 
What strain o' the stufl, what warpings past the 
aim! 
My times be in Thy hand ! 
Perfect the cup as planned ! 
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the 

R. Browning 

CCCLXXVI 

TUBAL CAIN 

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 

In the days when Earth was young ; 



388 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 

The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
And he lifted high his brawny hand 

On the iron glowing clear, 
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, 

As he fashioned the sword and spear. 
And he sang — 'Hurra for my handiwork ! 

Hurra for the spear and sword ! 
Hurra for the hand that shall wield them weU, 

For he shall be king and lord ! ' 

To Tubal Cain came many a one, 

As he wrought by his roaring fire, 
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade 

As the crown of his desire : 
And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 

Till they shouted loud for glee. 
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold. 

And spoils of the forest free. 
And they sang—' Hurra for Tubal Cain, 

Who hath given us strength anew ! 
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire. 

And hurra for the metal true ! ' 

But a sudden change came o'er his heart, 

Ere the setting of the sun, 
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain 

For the evil he had done ; • 
He saw that men, with rage and hate. 

Made war upon their kind, 
That the land was red with the blood they shed 

In their lust for carnage, blind. 
And he said — ■' Alas ! that ever I made, 

Or that skill of mine should plan. 
The spear and the sword for men whose joy 

Is to slay their fellow- man.' 

And for many a day old Tubal Cain 
Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 389 

And his hand forbore to smite the ore, 

And his furnace smouldered low. 
But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 

And a bright courageous eye, 
And bared his strong right arm for work, 

While the quick flames mounted high. 
And he sang — ' Hurra for my handicraft ! ' 

And the red sparks lit the air ; 
'Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,' 

And he fashioned the first ploughshare. 



And men, taught wisdom from the past, 

In friendship joined their hands, 
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, 

And ploughed the willing lands ; 
And sang — ' Hurra for Tubal Cain ! 

Our stanch good friend is he ; 
And for the ploughshare and the plough 

To him our praise shall be. 
But while oppression lifts its head. 

Or a tyrant would be lord, 
Though we may thank him for the Plough, 

We'll not forget the Sword !' 

C. Mackay 



CCCLXXVII 

QUA CURSUM VENTUS 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 
With canvas drooping, side by side. 

Two towers of sail at dawn of day 

Are scarce long leagues apart descried ; 

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze. 
And all the darkling hours they plied, 

Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas 
By each was cleaving, side by side : 



390 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

E'en so — but why the tale reveal 

Of those, whom year by year unchanged, 

Brief absence joined anew to feel, 
Astounded, soul from soul estranged ? 

At dead of night their sails were filled, 
And onward each rejoicing steered — 

Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, 
Or wist, what first with dawn appeared ! 

To veer, how vain ! On, onward strain. 
Brave barks ! In light, in darkness too. 

Through winds and tides one compass guides — 
To that, and your own selves, be true. 

But O blithe breeze ! and O great seas, 
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, 

On your wide plain they join again. 
Together lead them home at last. 

One port, methought, alike they sought 
One purpose hold where'er they fare, — 

O bounding breeze, O rushing seas ! 
At last, at last, unite them there ! 

A. H. Clough 

CCCLXXVIII 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
And where the land she travels from ? Away, 
Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 

On sunn}^ noons upon the deck's sm.ooth face, 
Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace ; 
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below 
The foaming wake far widening as we go. 

On stormy nights when wild north- westers rave, , 
How proud a thing to light with wind and wave ! 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 391 

The dripping sailor on the reehng mast 
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? 
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. 
And where the land she travels from? Away, 
Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 

A. H. Clough 

CCCLXXIX 

'0 MAY I JOIN TEE CHOIR INVISIBLE' 

Longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me 
mo vet, quam hoc exiguum. — Cicero, ad Att. xii. 
18. 

O may I join the choir invisible 

Of those immortal dead who live again 

In minds made better by their presence : live 

In pulses stirred to generosity, 

In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 

For miserable aims that end with self, 

In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 

And with their mild persistence urge man's search 

To vaster issues. 

So to live is heaven : 
To make undying music in the world, 
Breathing as beauteous order that controls 
With growing swa}^ the growing life of man. 
So v.'e inherit that sweet purity 
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized 
With mdening retrospect that bred despair. 
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, 
A vicious parent shaming still its child 
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved ; 
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies. 
Die in the large and charitable air. 
And all our rarer, better, truer self, 
That sobbed religiously in yearning song, 
That watched to ease the burthen of the world. 



392 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Laboriously tracing what must be, 

And what may yet be better — saw within 

A worthier image for the sanctuary, 

And shaped it forth before the multitude 

Divinely human, raising worship so 

To higher reverence more mixed with love — 

That better self shall live till human Time 

Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky 

Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb 

Unread for ever. 

This is life to come. 
Which martyred men have made more glorious 
For us who strive to follow. May I reach 
That purest heaven, be to other souls 
The cup of strength in some great agony, 
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love, 
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — 
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, 
And in diffusion ever more intense. 
So shall I join the choir invisible 
Whose music is the gladness of the world. 

George Eliot 

CCCLXXX 

AIRLY BEACON 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; 

Oh the pleasant sight to see 
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon, 

While my love climbed up to me ! 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; 

Oh the happ3^ hours we lay 
Deep in fern on Airly Beacon, 

Courting through the summer's day ! 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; 

Oh the weary haunt for me, 
All alone on Airly Beacon, 

With his baby on my knee ! 

C. Kingsley 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 393 

CCCLXXXI 

THE SANDS OF DEE 

'O Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home 
Across the sands of Dee' ; 
The western wind was wild and dank with foam, 
And all alone went she. 

The western tide crept up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand. 
And round and round the sand. 
As far as eye could see. 
The rolling mist came down and hid the land : 
And never home came she. 

* Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress of golden hair, 
A drowned maiden's hair 
Above the nets at sea? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 
Among the stakes on Dee.' 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam, 
The cruel crawling foam, 
The cruel hungry foam. 
To her grave beside the sea : 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 
Across the sands of Dee. 



C. Kingsley 



CCCLXXXII 

YOUNG AND OLD 



When all the world is young, lad, 
And all the trees are green ; 

And every goose a swan, lad. 
And every lass a queen ; 



394 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 

And round the world away ; 
Young blood must have its course, lad, 

And every dog his da3^ 

When all the world is old, lad, 

And all the trees are brown ; 
And all the sport is stale, lad. 

And all the wheels run down ; 
Creep home, and take your place there, 

The spent and maimed among : 
God grant you find one face there. 

You loved when all was young. 

C. Kingsley 

CCCLXXXIII 

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF 
LINCOLNSHIRE (15 71) 

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers ran by two; by three ; 

'Pull, if ye never pulled before; 

Good ringers, pull your best,' quoth he. 

' Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 

Ply all your changes, all 3^our swells. 
Play uppe "The Brides of Enderby." ' 

Men say it was a stolen tyde— 

The Lord that sent it, He knows all ; 

But in myne ears doth still abide 
The messa~e that the bells let fall : 

And there was naught of strange, beside 

The flight of mews and peewits pied 

By millions crouched on the old sea wall. 

I sat and spun within the doore, 

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; 

The level sun, like ruddy ore, 
Lay sinking in the barren skies; 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 395 

And dark against day's golden death 
She moved where Lindis wandereth, 
My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 

'Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!' calling, 
Ere the early dews were falling, 
Farre away I heard her song, 
' Cusha ! Cusha 1 ' all along ; 
Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 

Floweth, floweth, 
From the meads where melick groweth 
Faiptly came her milking song. 

' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! ' calling, 
' For the dews will soone be f alHng ; 
Leave your meadow grasses mellow. 

Mellow, mellow; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow; 
Come uppe Jett}^, rise and follow. 
From the clovers lift your head ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Come uppe Jett}^ rise and follow. 
Jetty, to the milking .shed.' 

If it be long, aye, long ago, 

^^'hen I beginne to think howe long, 

Againe I hear the Lindis flow. 

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong ; 

And all the aire, it seemeth mee, 

Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), 

That ring the tune of Enderby. 

Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 

iVnd not a shadowe mote be seene, 
Save where fuU fyve good miles awa}' 

The steeple towered from out the greene ; 



396 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 
Was heard in all the country side 
That Saturday at eventide. 

The swanherds where their sedges are 
Moved on in sunset's golden breath, 

The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 
And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; 

Till floating o'er the grassy sea 

Came downe that kyndly message free, 

The 'Brides of Mavis Enderby.' 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
And all along where Lindis flows 

To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows. 

They sayde, 'And why should this thing be? 

What danger lowers by land or sea ? 

They ring the tune of Enderby ! 

' For evil news from Mablethorpe, 

Of pyrate galleys warping down ; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe. 

They have not spared to wake the towne : 
But while the west bin red to see. 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring "The Brides of Enderby"?' 

I looked without, and lo ! mysonne 

Came riding downe with might and main : 

He raised a shout as he drew on, 
Till all the welkin rang again, 

'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' 

{A sweeter wom^an ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 

'The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe, 
The rising tide comes on apace, 

And boats adrift in younder towne 
Go sailing uppe the market-place.' 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 397 

He shook as one that looks on death : 

* God save you, mother ! ' straight he saith ; 

'Where is my wife, Elizabeth?' 

' Good Sonne, where Lindis winds away, 
With her two bairns I marked her long ; 

And ere yon bells beganne to play 
Afar I heard her milking song.' 

He looked across the grassy lea, 

To right, to left, 'Ho Enderby !' 

They rang 'The Brides of Enderby !' 

With that he cried and beat his breast ; 

For, lo ! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest, 

And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud ; 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 

And rearing Lindis backward pressed 
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; 

Then madl}^ at the e3^gre's breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 

Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout — 

Then beaten foam flew round about — 

Then all the mighty floods were out. 

So farre, so fast the eygre dravc, 
The heart had hardly time to beat, 

Before a shallow seething wave 
Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 

The feet had hardly time to flee 

Before it brake against the knee. 

And all the world was in the sea. 

Upon the roofe we sate that night, 
The noise of bells went sweeping by : 

I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stream from the church tower, red and high^ 



398 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

A lurid mark and dread to see ; 

And awesome bells they were to mee, 

That in the dark rang 'Enderby.' 

They rang the sailor lads to guide 

From roof e to roof e who fearless rowed ; 

And I — my sonne was at my side, 
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed : 

And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 

* O come in life, or come in death ! 

lost ! my love, Elizabeth.' 

And didst thou \'isit him no more ? 

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; 
The v/aters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace. 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 

That flow strewed v/recks about the grass, 
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ; 

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 

To manye more than myne and mee : 

But each will mourn his own (she saith), 

And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. 

1 shall never hear her more 
By the reedy Lindis shore, 

' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! ' calling, 
Ere the earl}^ dews be falling ; 
I shall never hear her song, 
' Cusha ! Cusha ! ' all along 
Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 

Goeth, floweth ; 
From the meads where melick groweth, 
When the water winding down, 
Onward floweth to the tov/n. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 399 

I shall never see her more 

Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 

Shiver, quiver; 
Stand beside the sobbing river, 
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling 
To the sandy lonesome shore ; 
I shall never hear her calling, 
' Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 
Mellow, mellow; 
. Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Comme uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot ; 
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow ; 
Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow; 
Lightfoot, Whitefoot, 
From your clovers lift the head ; 
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, 
Jetty, to the milking shed.' 

Jean Ingelow 

CCCLXXXIV 

A SUMMER NIGHT 

In the deserted moon-blanch'd street 
How lonely rings the echo of m}^ feet ! 

Those windows, which I gaze at, frown, 

Silent and white, unopening down. 

Repellent as the world ; — but see ! 

A break between the housetops shows 
The moon, and, lost behind her, fading dim 
Into the dewy dark obscurity 

Down at the far horizon's rim. 

Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose, 

And to my mind the thought 

Is on a sudden brought 
Of a past night, and a far different scene. 
Headlands stood out into the moon-lit deep 

As clearly as at noon ; 

The spring-tide's brimming flow 



400 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Heaved dazzlingly between ; 

Houses with long white sweep 

Girdled the glistening bay ; 

Behind, through the soft air, 
The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away. 

That night was far more fair — 
But the same restless pacings to and fro, 
And the same vainly throbbing heart was there, 

And the same bright calm moon. 

And the calm moonlight seems to say : \ 

Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast, 

Which never deadens into rest, 

Nor ever feels the fiery glow 
That whirls the spirit from itself away, 
But fluctuates to and fro, 

Never by passion quite possessed. 
Any never quite benumVd by the world's sway? 

And I, I know not if to pray 
Still to be what I am, or yield, and be 

Like all the other men I see. 

For most men in a brazen prison live, 

Where in the sun's hot eye, 
With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly 
Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give. 
Dreaming of nought beyond their prison- wall. 

And as, year after year. 
Fresh products of their barren labour fall 

From their tired hands, and rest 

Never yet comes more near, 
Gloom settles slowly down over their breast ; 

And while they try to stem 
The waves of mournful thought by which they are 
prest. 
Death in their prison reaches them, 
Unfreed, having seen nothing, still unblest. 

And the rest, a few. 
Escape their prison, and depart 
On the wide ocean of life anew. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 401 

There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart 
Listeth, will sail ; 
Nor doth he know how there prevail, 
Despotic on that sea, 
Trade-winds which cross it from eternity. 
Awhile he holds some false way, undebarr'd 
By thwarting signs, and braves 
The freshening wind and blackening waves. 
And then the tempest strikes him ; and between 
The lightning-bursts is seen 
Only a driving wreck, 
And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck 
With anguish'd face and ll>ang hair 
Grasping the rudder hard. 
Still bent to make some port he knows not where, 
Still standing for some false impossible shore. 

And sterner comes the roar 
Of sea and wind, and through the deepening 

gloom 
Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom, 
And he too disappears, and comes no more. 

Is there no life, but these alone? 
Madman or slave, must man be one? 



Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain ! 

Clearness divine ! 
Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign 
Of languor, though so calm, and though so great 
Are yet untroubled and unpassionate ! 
Who, though so noble, share in the world's toil, 
And, though so task'd, keep free from dust and 

soil ! 
I will not say that 3'our mild deeps retain 
A tinge, it may be, of their silent pain 
Who have long'd deeply once, and long'd in vain ; 
But I will rather say that you remain 
A world above man's head, to let him see 
How boundless might his soul's horizons be, 

2D 



402 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

How vast, yet of what clear transparency ! 

How it were good to live there, and breathe free! 

How fair a lot to fill 

Is left to each man still ! 

M. Arnold 



CCCLXXXV 

PHILOMELA 

Hark ! ah, the nightingale ! 
The tawny- throated ! 
Hark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! 
What triumph ! hark — what pain ! 

O wanderer from a Grecian shore, 
Still, after many years, in distant lands. 
Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain 
That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world 
pain — 
jSay, will it never heal ? 
And can this fragrant lawn 
With its cool trees, and night, 
And the sweet, tranquil Thames, 
And moonshine, and the dew. 
To thy rack'd heart and brain 
Afford no balm? 

Dost thou to-night behold. 
Here, through the moonlight on this English grass, 
The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild ? 

Dost thou again peruse 

With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes 
The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame? 

Dost thou once more assay 
Thy flight, and feel come over thee, 
Poor fugitive, the feathery change 
Once more, and once more seem to make resound 
With love and hate, triumph and agony, 
Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale? 

Listen, Eugenia — 



ADDITIONAL POEJMS 403 

How thick the bursts come crowding through the 
leaves ! 
Again — thou hearest ? 
Eternal passion ! 
Eternal pain ! 

M. Arnold 



CCCLXXXVI 

REQUIESCAT 

Strew on her roses, roses, 

And never a spray of yew ! 
In quiet she reposes ; 

Ah ! would that I did too. 

Her mirth the world required ; 

She bathed it in smiles of glee. 
But her heart was tired, tired, 

And now they let her be. 

Her life was turning, turning. 

In mazes of heat and sound ; 
But for peace her soul was yearning, 

And now peace laps her round. 

Her cabin'd, ample spirit, 

It flutter'd and fail'd for breath ; 

To-night it doth inherit 
The vasty hall of death. 

M. Arnold 

CCCLXXXVII 

RUGBY CHAPEL 

November, 1857 

Coldly, sadly descends 
The autumn evening ! The field 
Strewn with its dank yellow drifts 
Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, 
2D 2 



404 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Fade into dimness apace, 

Silent ; — hardly a shout; 

From a few boys late at their play ! 

The lights come out in the street, 

In the school-room windows ; but cold, 

Solemn, unlighted, austere. 

Through the gathering darkness, arise 

The chapel- walls, in whose bound 

Thou, my father ! art laid. 

There thou dost lie, in the gloom 
Of the autumn evening. But ah ! 
That word, gloom, _ to my mind 
Brings thee back in the light 
Of thy radiant vigour again ! 
In the gloom of November we pass'd 
Days not of gloom at thy side ; 
Seasons impair'd not the ray 
Of thine even cheerfulness clear. 
Such thou wast ! and I stand 
In the autumn evening, and think 
Of bygone autumns with thee. 

Fifteen years have gone round 
Since thou arosest to tread. 
In the summer morning, the road 
Of death, at a call unforeseen, 
Sudden ! For fifteen years. 
We who till then in thy shade 
Rested as under the boughs 
Of a mighty oak, have endured 
Sunshine and rain as we might, 
Bare, unshaded, alone, 
Lacking the shelter of thee ! 

O strong soul, by what shore 
Tarriest thou now? For that force, 
Surely, has not been left vain ! 
Somewhere, surely, afar, 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 

In the sounding labour-house vast 
Of being, is practised that strength 
Zealous, beneficent, firm ! 



Yes, in some far-shining sphere, 
Conscious or not of the past, 
Still thou performest the word 
Of the Spirit in whom thou dost livi 
Prompt, unwearied, as here ! 
Still thou upraisest with zeal 
The humble good from the ground. 
Sternly repressest the bad ! 
Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse 
Those who with half-open eyes 
Tread the border-land dim 
'Twixt vice and virtue ; reviv'st, 
Succourest ! — this was thy work, 
This was thy life upon earth. 



What is the course of the life 

Of mortal men on the earth? — 

Most men eddy about 

Here and there — eat and drink, 

Chatter and love and hate. 

Gather and squander, are raised 

Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust. 

Striving blindly, achieving 

Nothing ; and then they die — 

Perish ! and no one asks 

Who or what they have been, 

More than he asks what waves, 

In the moonlit solitudes mild 

Of the midmost Ocean, have swell'd, 

Foam'd for a moment, and gone. 

And there are some, whom a thirst 

Ardent, unquenchable, fires, 

Not with the crowd to be spent — 

Not without aim to go round 



405 



4o6 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

In an eddy of purposeless dust, 
Effort unmeaning and vain. 
Ah yes, some of us strive 
Not without action to die 
Fruitless, but something to snatch 
From dull oblivion, nor all 
Glut the devouring grave ! 
We, we have chosen our path — 
Path to a clear-purposed goal. 
Path of advance ! — but it leads 
A long, steep journey, through sunk 
Gorges, o'er mountains in snow ! 
Cheerful, with friends, we set forth — 
Then, on the height, comes the storm I 
Thunder crashes from rock 
To rock, the cataracts reply ; 
Lightnings dazzle our eyes ; 
Roaring torrents have breach'd 
The track — the stream-bed descends 
In the place where the wayfarer once 
Planted his footstep — the spray 
Boils o'er its borders ! aloft, 
The unseen snow-beds dislodge 
Their hanging ruin ; — alas, 
Havoc is made in our train ! 
Friends who set forth at our side 
Falter, are lost in the storm ! 
We, we only, are left ! 
With frowning foreheads, with lips 
Sternly compress'd, we strain on, 
On — and at nightfall, at last, 
Come to the end of our way, 
To the lonely inn 'mid the rocks ; 
Where the gaunt and taciturn host 
Stands on the threshold, the wind 
Shaking his thin white hairs — 
Holds his lantern to scan 
Our storm-beat figures, and asks : 
Whom in our party we bring ? 
Whom we have left in the snow? 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 407 

Sadly we answer : We bring 
Only ourselves ! we lost 
Sight of the rest in the storm ! 
Hardly ourselves we fought through, 
Stripp'd without friends, as we are ! 
Friends, companions, and train 
The avalanche swept from our side. 

But thou would'st not alone 
Be saved, my father ! alone 
Conquer and come to thy goal, 
Leaving the rest in the wild. 
We were weary, and we 
Fearful, and we, in our march. 
Fain to drop down and to die. 
Still thou turnedst, and still 
Beckonedst the trembler, and still 
Gavest the weary thy hand ! 
If, in the paths of the world, 
Stones might have wounded thy feet, 
Toil or dejection have tried 
Thy spirit, of that we saw 
Nothing ! to us thou wert still 
Cheerful, and helpful, and firm. 
Therefore to thee it was given 
Many to save with thyself ; 
And, at the end of thy da}', 
O faithful shepherd ! to come, 
Bringing thy sheep in th}'- hand. 

And through thee I believe 

In the noble and great who are gone 

Pure souls honour'd and blest 

By former ages, who else — 

Such, so soulless, so poor. 

Is the race of men whom I see — 

Seem'd but a dream of the heart, 

Seem'd but a cry of desire. 

Yes ! I believe that there lived 

Others like thee in the past. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Not like the men of the crowd 
Who all round me to-day 
Bluster or cringe, and make life 
Hideous, and arid, and vile ; 
But souls temper'd with lire, 
Fervent, heroic, and good, 
Helpers and friends of mankind. 

Servants of God ! — or sons 
Shall I not call you ? because 
Not as servants ye knew 
Your Father's innermost mind, 
His, who unwillingly sees 
One of his little ones lost — 
Yours is the praise, if mankind 
Hath not as yet in its march 
Fainted, and fallen, and died ! 

See ! in the rocks of the world 

Marches the host of mankind, 

A feeble, wavering line ! 

Where are they tending ? — A God 

Marshall'd them, gave them their goal. 

Ah, but the way is so long ! 

Years they have been in the wild ! 

Sore thirst plagues them ; the rocks, 

Rising all round, overawe. 

Factions divided them — their host 

Threatens to break, to dissolve. — 

Ah, keep, keep them combined ! 

Else, of the myriads who fill 

That army, not one shall arrive ! 

Sole they shall stray ; in the rocks 

Labour for ever in vain, 

Die one by one in the waste. 

Then, in such hour of need 

Of your fainting, dispirited race, 

Ye, like angels, appear. 

Radiant with ardour divine. 

Beacons of hope, ye appear ! 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 409 

Languor is not in your heart, 
Weakness is not in your word, 
Weariness not on your brow. 
Ye alight in our van ! at your voice, 
Panic, despair, flee away. 
Ye move through the ranks, recall 
The stragglers, refresh the outworn, 
Praise, re-inspire the brave ! 
Order, courage, return. 
Eyes rekindling, and prayers, 
Follow your steps as ye go. 
Ye fill up the gaps in our files, 
Strengthen the wavering line, 
Stablish, continue our march, 
On, to the bound of the waste, 
On, to the City of God ! 

M. Arnold 



CCCLXXXVIII 

THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 

The blessed damozel leaned out 
From the gold bar of Heaven ; 

Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even ; 

She had three lilies in her hand. 

And the stars in her hair were seven. 

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, 
No wrought flowers did adorn. 

But a white rose of Mary's gift. 
For service meetly worn ; 

Her hair that lay along her back 
Was yellow like ripe corn. 

Herseemed she scarce had been a day 

One of God's choristers ; 
The wonder was not yet quite gone 

From that still look of hers ; 



4IO ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Albeit, to them she left, her day 
Had counted as ten years. 



(To one, it is ten years of years, 
. . . Yet now, and in this place. 

Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair 
Fell all about my face . . . 

Nothing : the autumn fall of leaves. 
The whole year sets apace.) 



It was the rampart of God's house 

That she Avas standing on ; 
By God built over the sheer depth 

The which is Space begun ; 
So high, that looking downward thence 

She scarce could see the sun. 



It lies in Heaven, across the flood 

Of ether, as a bridge. 
Beneath, the tides of day and night 

With flame and darkness ridge 
The void, as low as where this earth 

Spins like a fretful midge. 

Heard hardly, some of her new friends 

Amid their loving games 
Spake evermore among themselves 

Their virginal chaste names ; 
And the souls mounting up to God 

Went by her like thin flames. 



And still she bowed herself and stooped 

Out of the circling charm ; 
Until her bosom must have made 

The bar she leaned on warm, 
And the lilies lay as if asleep 

Along her bended arm. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 411 

From the fixed place of Heaven she saw 

Time like a pulse shake fierce 
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove 

Within the gulf to pierce 
Its path ; and now she spoke as when 

The stars sang in their spheres. 

The sun was gone now ; the curled moon 

Was like a little feather 
Fluttering far down the gulf ; and now 

She spoke through the still weather. 
Her voice was like the voice the stars 

Had when they sang together. 

(Ah sweet ! Even now, in that bird's song, 

Strove not her accents there, 
Fain to be hearkened ? When those bells 

Possessed the mid-day air, 
Strove not her steps to reach my side 

Down all the echoing stair?) 

'I wish that he were come to me, 

For he will come,' she said. 
'Have I not prayed in Heaven? — on earth. 

Lord, Lord, has he not prayed? 
Are not two prayers a perfect strength ? 

And shall I feel afraid ? 

* When round his head the aureole clings, 

And he is clothed in white, 
I'll take his hand and go with him 

To the deep wells of light ; 
We will step down as to a stream. 

And bathe there in God's sight. 

*We two will stand beside that shrine, 

Occult, withheld, untrod. 
Whose lamps are stirred continually 

With prayer sent up to God : 
And see our old prayers, granted, melt 

Each like a little cloud. 



412 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

*We two will lie i' the shadow of 

That living mystic tree, 
Within whose secret growth the Dove 

Is sometimes felt to be, 
While every leaf that His plumes touch 

Saith His Name audibly. 

'And I myself will teach to him, 

I myself, l3ang so, 
The songs I sing here ; which his voice 

Shall pause in, hushed and slow, 
And find some knowledge at each pause, 

Or some new thing to know.' 

(Alas ! We two, we two, thou say'st ! 

Yea, one wast thou with me 
That once of old. But shall God lift 

To endless unity 
The soul whose likeness with thy soul 

Was but its love for thee?) 

'We two,' she said, 'will seek the groves 

Where the lady Mary is. 
With her five handmaidens, whose names 

Are five sweet symphonies, 
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 

Margaret and Rosalys. 

' Circlewise sit they, with bound locks 

And foreheads garlanded ; 
Into the fine cloth white like flame 

Weaving the golden thread. 
To fashion the birth-robes for them 

Who are just born, being dead. 

'He shall fear, haply, and be dumb : 

Then will I lay my cheek 
To his, and tell about our love, 
1 Not once abashed or weak : 
jAnd the dear Mother will approve 

My pride, and let me speak. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 413 

'Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, 

To Him round whom all souls 
Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads 

Bowed with their aureoles : 
And angels meeting us shall sing 

To their citherns and citoles. 

'There will I ask of Christ the Lord 

Thus much for him and me : — 
Only to live as once on earth 

With Love, — only to be. 
As then awhile, for ever now 

Together, I and he.' 

She gazed and listened and then said, 

Less sad of speech than mild, — 
'All this is when he comes.' She ceased. 

The light thrilled towards her, filled 
With angels in strong level flight. 

Her eyes prayed, and she smiled. 

(I saw her smile.) But soon their path 

Was vague in distant spheres : 
And then she cast her arms along 

The golden barriers, 
And laid her face between her hands, 

And wept. (I heard her tears.) 

D. G. Rossetti 

cccLxxxrx 
SONG 

When I am dead, my dearest, 

Sing no sad songs for me ; 
Plant thou no roses at my head, 

Nor shady cypress tree : 
Be the green grass above me 

With showers and dewdrops wet ; 
And if thou wilt, remember. 

And if thou mlt, forget. 



414 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

I shall not see the shadows, 

I shall not feel the rain ; 
I shall not hear the nightingale 

Sing on, as if in pain ; 
And dreaming through the twilight 

That doth not rise nor set, 
Haply I may remember. 

And haply may forget. 

C. G. Rossetti 

cccxc 
A BIRTHDAY 

My heart is like a singing bird 

Whose nest is in a watered shoot ; 
My heart is like an appletree 

Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit ; 
My heart is like a rainbow shell 

That paddles in a halcyon sea ; 
My heart is gladder than all these 

Because my love is come to me. 
Raise me a dais of silk and down ; 

Hang it with vair and ]3urple dyes ; 
Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, 

And peacocks with a hundred eyes ; 
Work it in gold and silver grapes, 

In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys ; 
Because the birthday of my life 

Is come, my love is come to me. 

C G. Rossetti 

cccxci 

BARBARA 

On the Sabbath-day, 
Through the churchyard old and grey. 
Over the crisp and yellow leaves, I held my rustling 

way; 
And amid the words of mercy, falling on my soul 
like balms, 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 



415 



'Mid the gorgeous storms of music — in the mellow 

organ-calms, 
'Mid the upward-streaming prayers, and the rich 

and solemn psalms, 
I stood careless, Barbara. 

My heart was otherwhere 
While the organ shook the air. 
And the priest, with outspread hands, blessed the 

people with a prayer ; 
But, when rising to go homeward, with a mild and 

saint-like shine 
Gleamed a face of airy beauty ^^^th its heavenly 

eyes on mine — 
Gleamed and vanished in a moment — O that face 
was surely thine 
Out of heaven, Barbara ! 

O pallid, pallid face ! 

earnest eyes of grace ! 

When last I saw thee, dearest, it was in another 

place. 
You came running forth to meet me with my 

love-gift on your wrist : 
The flutter of a long white dress, then all was lost 

in mist — 
A purple stain of agony was on the mouth I kissed, 
That wild morning, Barbara. 

1 searched, in my despair. 
Sunny noon and midnight air ; 

I could not drive away the thought that you were 

lingering there. 
many and many a winter night I sat when 3^ou 

were gone, 
My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire 

alone — 
Within the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing 

on your stone, 
You were sleeping, Barbara. 



4i6 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

'Mong angels, do you think 
Of the precious golden link 
I clasped around your happy arm while sitting by 

yon brink? 
Or when that night of gliding dance, of laughter 

and guitars, 
Was emptied of its music, and we watched, through 

latticed bars, 
The silent midnight heaven creeping o'er us with 
its stars. 
Till the day broke, Barbara? 

In the years I've changed ; 
Wild and far my heart hath ranged. 
And many sins and errors now have been on me 

avenged ; 
But to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I 

lacked : 
I loved you, and above my life still hangs that love 

intact — 
Your love the trembling rainbow, I the reckless 
cataract — 
Still I love you, Barbara. 

Yet, love, I am unblest ; 
With many doubts opprest, 
I wander like a desert wind, without a place of rest. 
Could I but win you for an hour from off that starry 

shore, 
The hunger of my soul were stilled, for Death hath 

told you more 
Than the melancholy world doth know; things 
deeper than all lore 
You could teach me, Barbara. 

In vain, in vain, in vain. 
You will never come again. 
There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful 
fringe of rain ; 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 417 

The gloaming closes slowly round, loud winds are 

in the tree, 
Round selfish shores for ever moans the hurt and 

wounded sea, 
There is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death 
and thee, 
Barbara ! 

A. Smith 

CCCXCII 

SUMMER DAWN 

Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips, 
Think but one thought of me up in the stars. 

The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, 
Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, 
betwixt the cloud-bars. 

That are patiently waiting there for the dawn : 
Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold 

Waits to float through them along with the sun. i ■ 

Far out in the meadows, above the young corn, 
The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold 

The uneasy wind rises ; the roses are dun ; 

Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn, 

Round the lone house in the midst of the corn. 
Speak but one word to me over the corn. 
Over the tender, bowed locks of the corn. 

W. Morris 



As we rush, as we rush in the train. 

The trees and the houses go wheeling back, 

But the starry heavens above the plain 
Come flying on our track. 

All the beautiful stars of the sky. 

The silver doves of the forest of Night, 

Over the dull earth swarm and fly, 
Companions of our flight. 

2E 



4i8 ADDITIONx\L POEMS 

We will rush ever on without fear ; 

Let the goal be far, the flight be fleet ! 
For we carry the Heavens with us, dear, 

While the Earth slips from our feet ! 

' /. Thomson 



cccxciv 

ITYLUS 

Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow, 

How can thine heart be full of the spring? 
A thousand summers are over and dead. 
What hast thou found in the spring to follow? 
What hast thou found in thine heart to sing? 
What wilt thou do when the summer is shed? 

swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow, 

Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south, 
The soft south whither thine heart is set ? 
Shall not the grief of the old time follow ? 

Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth? 
Hast thou forgotten ere I forget ? 

Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow. 

Thy way is long to the sun and the south; 
But I, fulfiUed of my heart's desire, 
Shedding m}^ song upon height, upon hollow, 
From tawny body and sweet small mouth 
Feed the heart of the night with fire. 

1 the nightingale all spring through, 

O swallow, sister, O changing swallow. 
All spring through till the spring be done. 
Clothed with the light of the night on the dew, 

Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow. 
Take flight and follow and find the sun. 

Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow. 
Though all things feast in the spring's guest- 
chamber, 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 419 

How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet ? 
For where thou fliest I shall not follow, 
Till life forget and death remember, 
Till thou remember and I forget. 

Swallow, my sister, O singing swallow, 
I know not how thou hast heart to sing. 
Hast thou the heart? is it all past over? 
Thy lord the summer is good to follow, 
And fair the feet of thy lover the spring : 

But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover ? 

O swallow, sister, O fleeting swallow. 
My heart in me is a molten ember 

And over my head the waves have met. 
But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow, 
Could I forget or thou remember, 
Couldst thou remember and I forget. 

O sweet stra}^ sister, O shifting swallow, 
The heart's division divideth us. 

Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree ; 
But mine goes forth among sea-gulfs hollow 
To the place of the slaying of Itylus, 
The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea. 

O swallow, sister, O rapid swallow, 
I pray thee sing not a little space. 
Are not the roofs and the lintels wet ? 
The woven web that was plain to follow. 
The small slain body, the fiowerlike face, 
Can I remember if thou forget? 

O sister, sister, thy first-begotten ! 

The hands that cling and the feet that follow, 
The voice of the child's blood cr3'-ing yet, 
Who hath remembered me ? who hath forgotten ? 
Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow. 
But the world shall end when I forget. 

A. C. Swinburne 



420 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

cccxcv 

A FORSAKEN GARDEN 

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, 
At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, 
Walled round with rocks as an inland island, 

The ghost of a garden fronts the sea. 
A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses 

The steep square slope of the blossomless bed 
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves 
of its roses 

Now lie dead. 

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken. 
To the low last edge of the long lone land. 
If a step should sound or a word be spoken, 

Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's 
hand? 
So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless. 

Through branches and briers if a man make way 
He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless 
Night and day. 

The dense hard passage is blind and stifled 

That crawls by a track none turn to climb 
To the strait waste place that the years have rifled 
Of all but the thorns that are touched not of 
time. 
The thorns he spares when the rose is taken ; 

The rocks are left when he wastes the plain. 
The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, 
These remain. 

Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not ; 

As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry ; 
From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale 
calls not. 

Could she call, there were never a rose to reply. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 421 

Over the meadows that blossom and wither 

Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song ; 
Only the sun and the rain come hither 
All year long. 

The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels 
One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. 

Only the wind here hovers and revels 

In a round where life seems barren as death. 

Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, 
Haply, of lovers none ever will know, 

Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping 
Years ago. 

Heart handfast in heart as they stood, 'Look 
thither,' 
Did he whisper? 'look forth from the flowers to 
the sea ; 
For the foam-flowers endure when the rose- 
blossoms wither, 
And men that love lightly may die — but we?' 
And the same \\dnd sang and the same waves 
whitened. 
And or ever the garden's last petals were shed, 
In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had 
lightened, 

Love was dead. 

Or they loved their life through, and then went 
whither ? 
And were one to the end — but what end who 
knows ? 
Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither. 

As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose. 
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love 
them ? 
What love was ever as deep as a grave ? 
They are loveless now as the grass above them, 
Or the wave. 



422 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

All are at one now, roses and lovers, 

Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea. 
Not a breath of the time that has been hovers 

In the air now soft with a summer to be. 
Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons 
hereafter 
Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh nov/ or weep 
When as they that are free now of weeping and 
laughter 

We shall sleep. 

Here death may deal not again for ever ; 

Here change may come not till all change end. 
From the graves they have made they shall rise up 
never, 
Who have left nought living to ravage and rend. 
Earth, stones, and thorns of the \vild ground 
growing, 
While the sun and the rain live, these shall be; 
Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing 
Roll the sea. 

Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, 

Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, 
Till the strength of the waves of the high tides 
humble 
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink ; 
Here now in his triumph where all things falter, 
Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand 
spread. 
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, 
Death lies dead. 

A. C. Sivinhurne 



Out of the night that covers me. 
Black as the pit from pole to pole, 

I thank whatever gods may be 
For my unconquerable soul. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 423 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 

Under the bludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the Horror of the shade, 

And yet the menace of the years 
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate. 

How charged with punishments the scroll, 

I am the master of my fate : 
I am the captain of my soul. 

W. E. Henley 



CCCXCVII 

DAISY 

Where the thistle lifts a purple crown 

Six foot out of the turf, 
And the harebell shakes on the windy hill 

O the breath of the distant surf ! — 

The hills look over on the South, 
And southward dreams the sea ; 

And with the sea-breeze hand in hand 
Came innocence and she. 

Where 'mid the gorse the raspberry 

Red for the gatherer springs, 
Two children did we stray and talk 

Wise, idle, childish things. 

She listened with big-lipped surprise, 
Breast-deep mid flower and spine : 

Her skin was like a grape, whose veins 
Run snow instead of wine. 



424 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

She knew not those sweet words she spake, 
Nor knew her own sweet way ; 

But there's never a bird, so sweet a song 
Thronged in whose throat that day ! 

Oh, there were flowers in Storrington 
On the turf and on the spray ; 

But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills 
Was the Daisy-flower that day ! 

Her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed face. 

She gave me tokens three : — 
A look, a word of her winsome mouth. 

And a wild raspberry. 

A berry red, a guileless look, 
A still word, — strings of sand ! 

And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
Fly down to her little hand. 

For standing artless as the air. 

And candid as the skies, 
She took the berries v/ith her hand, 

And the love with her sweet eyes. 

The fairest things have fleetest end, 
Their scent survives their close : 

But the rose's scent is bitterness 
To him that loved the rose. 

She looked a little wistfully. 

Then went her sunshine way : — 

The sea's eye had a mist on it, 
And the leaves fell from the day. 

She went her unremembering way, 

She went and left in me 
The pang of all the partings gone. 

And partings yet to be. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 425 

She left me marvelling why my soul 

Was sad that she was glad ; 
At all the sadness in the sweet, 

The sweetness in the sad. 

Still, still I seemed to see her, still 

Look up with soft replies, 
And take the berries with her hand, 

And the love with her lovely eyes. 

Nothing begins, and nothing ends. 

That is not paid with moan ; 
For we are born in other's pain. 

And perish in our own. 

Francis Thompson 



CCCXCVIII 

TO THE SINKING SUN 

How graciously thou wear'st the yoke 

Of use that does not fail ! 
The grasses, like an anchored smoke, 

Ride in the bending gale ; 
This knoll is snowed with blosmy manna. 

And fire-dropt as a seraph's mail. 

Here every eve thou stretchest out 

Untarnishable wing, 
And marvellously bring'st about 

Newly an olden thing ; 
Nor ever through lUce-ordcred heaven 

Moves largely thy grave progressing. 

There every eve thou goest down 

Behind the self -same hill, 
Nor ever twice alike go'st down 

Behind the self-same hill ; 
Nor like- ways is one flame-sopped flower 

Possessed with glory past its will. 



426 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Not twice alike ! I am not blind, 

My sight is live to see ; 
And yet I do complain of thy 

Weary variety. 
O Sun ! I ask thee less or more, 

Change not at all, or utterly ! 

O give me unprevisioned new, 

Or give to change reprieve ! 
For new in one is olden too. 

That I for sameness grieve. 
O flowers ! O grasses ! be but once 

The grass and flower of yester-eve I 

Wonder and sadness are the lot 

Of change : thou yield'st mine eyes 

Grief of vicissitude, but not 
Its penetrant surprise. 

Immutability mutable 

Burthens my spirit and the skies. 

O altered joy, all joyed of yore 
Plodding in unconned ways ! 

grief grieved out, and 3'^et once more 
A dull, new, staled amaze ! 

1 dream, and all was dreamed before, 
Or dream I so ? the dreamer says. 

Francis Thompson 

CCCXCIX 

SONG 

I came to the doors of the House of Love 
And knocked as the starry night went by ; 

And mv true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said 
"ItisL" 

And Love looked down from a lattice above 

Where the roses were dry as the lips of the dead ; 

"There is not room in the House of Love 
For you both," he said. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 427 

I plucked a leaf from the porch and crept 
Away through a desert of scoffs and scorns 

To a lonely place where I prayed and wept 
And wore me a crown of thorns. 

I came once more to the House of Love 
And knocked, ah, softly and wistfully, 

And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said 
"None now but thee." 

And the great doors opened wide apart 
And a voice rang out from a glory of light, 

■'Make room, make room for a faithful heart 
In the House of Love, to-night." 

Alfred Noyes 



LOVE'S ROSARY 

All day I tell my rosary 

For now my love's away : 
To-morrow he shall come to me 

About the break of day ; 
A rosary of twenty hours, 

And then a rose of May; 
A rosary of fettered flowers, 

And then a holy-day. 

All day I tell my rosary, 

My rosary of hours : 
And here's a flower of memory. 

And here's a hope of flowers, 
And here's an hour that yearns with pain 

For old forgotten years, 
An hour of loss, an hour of gain, 

And then a shower of tears. 

All day I tell my rosary, 

Because my love's away ; 
And never a whisper comes to me. 

And never a word to say ; 



428 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

But, if it's parting more endears, 

God bring him back, I pray ; 
Or my heart will break in the darkness 

Before the break of day. 

All day I tell my rosary 

My rosary of hours. 
Until an hour shall bring to me 

The hope of all the flowers . . . 
I tell my rosary of hours. 

For O, my love's away ; 
And — a dream may bring him back to me 

About the break of day. 

Alfred Noyes 

cccci 
SONG OF HANRAHAN THE RED 

Oh, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood, 

The song is in my blood, night and day ; 
We will pluck a scented petal from the Rose upon 
the Rood 

Where Love lies bleeding on the way ; 
We will listen to the linnet and watch the waters 
leap. 

When the clouds go dreaming by, 
And under the wild roses and the stars we will sleep 

And wander on together, you and I. 

We shall understand the mystery that none has 
understood, 

We shall know why the leafy gloom is green ; 
Oh, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood 

When we see what the stars have seen ; 
We have heard the hidden song of the soft dews 
falling 

At the end of the last dark sky, 
Where all the sorrows of the world are calling, 

We must wander on together, you and I. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 429 

They are calling, calling, Away, come awa}^. 

And we know not whence they call ; 
For the song is in our hearts, we hear it night and 
day, 

As the deep tides rise and fall : 
Oh, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood, 

While the hours and the years roll by ; 
We have heard it, we have heard, but we have not 
understood, 

We must wander on together, you and I. 

The wind may beat upon us, the rain may blind 
our eyes, 
The leaves may fall beneath the winter's wing ; 
But we shall hear the music of the dream that never 
dies; 
And we shall know the secret of the spring ; 
We shaK know how all the blossoms of evil and of 
good 
Are mingled in the meado^vs of the sky ; 
And then — if Death can find us in the heart of 
the wood, 
We shall wander on together, you and I. 

Alfred Noyes 

CCCCII 

THE WEST WIND 

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries ; 
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes ; 
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills. 
And April's in the west wind, and daffodils. 

It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as 

mine, 
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air's like 

wine. 
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie 

at rest, 
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the 

nest. 



430 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

"Will you not come home, brother ? You have been 

long away. 
It's April, and blossom time, and white is the spray : 
And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain. 
Will you not come home, brother, home to us 

again ? 

The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits 

run; 
It's blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and 

sun. 
It's song to a man's soul, brother, fire to a man's 

brain. 
To hear the wild bees and see the merr}' spring 

again. 

Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the 

green wheat. 
So will you not come home, brother, and rest 3'our 

tired feet? 
I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for 

aching eyes," 
Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' 

cries. 

It's the white road westwards is the road I must 

tread 
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart 

and head, 
To the violets and the brown brooks and the 

thrushes' song 
In the fine land, the west land, the land where I 

belong. 

John Masefield 

CCCCIII 

THE GOLDEN CITY OF ST. MARY 

Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way, 
Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay, 
And there's the Blessed City — so the sailors say — 
The Golden City of St. Mary. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 431 

It's built of fair marble — white — without a stain, 
And in the cool twilight when the sea- winds wane ' 
The bells chime faintly, like a soft, warm rain 
In the Golden City of St. :\Iary, ' 

Among the green palm-trees where the fire-flies 

shine, 
Are the white tavern tables where the gallants dine, 
Singing slow Spanish songs like old mulled mne 
In the Golden City of St. Mary. 

Oh I'll be shipping sunset-wards and westward- 

ho 
Through the green toppling combers a-shattering 

into snov/, 
Till I come to quiet moorings and a watch below, 
In the Golden City of St. Mary. 

John Masefield 

cccciv 
ROADWAYS 

One road leads to London, 

One road runs to Wales, 
My road leads me seawards 

To the white dipping sails. 

One road leads to the river, 

As it goes singing slow ; 
My road leads to shipping, 

Where the bronzed sailors go. 

Leads me, lures me, calls me 

To salt green tossing sea ; 
A road without earth's road-dust 

Is the right road for me. 

A wet road heaving, shining. 

And wild with seagull's cries, 
A mad salt sea-wind blowing 

The salt spray in my eyes. 



432 ADDITIONAL POEMS 

My road calls me, lures me 
West, east, south, and north; 

Most roads lead men homewards, 
My road leads me forth 

To add more miles to the tally 

Of grey miles left behind 
In quest of that one beauty 

God put me here to find. 

John Masefield 

ccccv 
SEA-FEVER 

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and 

the sky. 
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, 
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the 

white sail's shaking, 
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn 

breaking. 

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the 

running tide 
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied ; 
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds 

flying. 
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the 

sea-gulls crying. 

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy 
life. 

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the 
wind's like a whetted knife ; 

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow- 
rover. 

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long 
trick's over. 

John Masefield 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 433 

CCCCVI 

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE 

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, 

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles 
made; 
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the 
honey-bee, 
And live alone in the bee-loud glade. 

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes 
dropping slow, 
Dropping from the veils of morning to where the 
cricket sings ; 
There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple 
glow, 
And evening full of the linnet's wings. 

I will arise and go now, for always night and day 
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by 
the shore ; 
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements 
gray, 
I hear it in the deep heart's core. 

William Butler Yeats 



21 



NOTES 
INDEX OF WRITERS 

y AND 

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



NOTES 
(1861-1891) 

Summary of Book First 

The Elizabethan Poetry, as it is rather vaguely termed, forms 
the svibstance of this Book, which contains pieces from Wyat 
under Henry VJII to Shakespeare midway through the 
reign of Jamefe I, and Drummoiid who carried on the early 
manner to a still later period. There is here a wide range of 
style ; — from simplicity expressed in a language hardly yet 
broken-in to verse, — through the yiastoral fancies and Italian 
conceits of the strictly Elizabethan time, — to the passionate 
reality of Shakespeare : yet a general uniformitj' of tone pre- 
vails. Few readers can fail to observe the natural sweetness 
of the verse, the single-hearted straightforwardness of the 
thoughts : — nor less, the limitation of subject to the many 
phases of one passion, which then characterized our lyrical 
poetry,— unless when, as in especial with Shakespeare, the 
•purple light of Love' is tempered by a spirit of sterner 
reflection. For the didactic verse of the century, although 
lyrical in form, yet very rarely rises to the pervading emotion, 
the golden cadence, proper to the lyric. 

It should be observed that this and the following Summaries 
apply in the main to the Collection here presented, in which 
(besides its restriction to Lyrical Poetry) a strictly representa- 
tive or historical Anthology has not been aimed at. Great 
excellence, in human art as in human character, has from the 
beginning of things been even more uniform than mediocrity, 
by virtue of the closeness of its approach to Nature :-and so 
far as the standard of Excellence kept in view has been 
attained in this volume, a comparative absence of extreme 
or temporary phases in style, a similarity of tone and manner, 
will be found thi-oughout : — something neither modern nor 
ancient, but true and speaking to the heart of man alike 
throvighout all ages. 



438 NOTES 



PAGE NO. 

2 3 whist : hushed, quieted. 

— 4 Rouse Memnon's rnothrr : Awaken the Dawn from the 
dark Earth and the clouds where she is resting. This 
is one of that limited class of early mythes which 
may be reasonably interpreted as representations of 
natural phenomena. Aurcn-a in the old mythology is 
mother of Memnou (the East), and wife of Tithonus 
(the appearances of Earth and Sky during the last 
hours of Night). She leaves him everj^ morning in 
renewed youth, to prepare the way for Phoebus (the 
Sun), whilst Tithonus remains in perpetual old age 
and grayness. 

3 — 1. 23 by Feneus' stream : Phoebus loved the Nymph 

Daphne whom he met by the river Peneus in the vale 
of Tempe. L. 27 Amphion's lyre : He was said to 
have built the walls of Thebss to the sound of hia 
music. L. 35 Night like a dru,ikard reels : Compare 
Romeo and Juliet, Act TI, Scene 3 : ' The grey-eyed 
morn smiles,' &c. — It should be added that three 
lines, which appeared hopelessly misprinted, have 
been omitted in this Poem. 

4 6 Time's chest : in which he is figuratively sup- 

posed to lay up past treasures. So in Troilus, 
Act III, Scene 3, 'Time hath a wallet at his 
back • &c. In the Arcadia, chest is used to signify 
tomb. 

6 7 A fine example of the highwrought and conventional 
Elizabethan Pastoralism, which it would be un- 
reasonable to criticize on the ground of the un- 
shepherdlike or unreal character of some images 
suggested. Stanza 6 was perhaps inserted by Izaak 
Walton. 

6 8 This beautiful lyric is one of several recovered from 
the very rare Elizabethan Song-books, for the publi- 
cation of which our thanks are due to Mr. A. H. 
Bullen (18S7, 18S8). 

8 12 One stanza has been here omitted, in accordance 

with the principle noticed in the Preface. Similar 
omissions occur in a few other poems. The more 
serious abbreviation by which it has been attempted 
to bring Ci-ashaw's * Wishes ' and Shelley's ' Euga- 
nean Hills,' with one or two more, within the scheme 
of this selection, is commended with much diflSdence 
to the judgment of readers acquainted with the 
original pieces. 

9 13 Sidney's poetry is singularly unequal ; his short life, 

his frequent absorption in public employment, 
hindered doubtless the development of his genius. 
His great contemporary fame, second only, it 
appears, to Spenser's, has been hence obscured. 
At times he is heavy and even prosaic ; his 
simplicity is rude and bare ; his verse unmelodious. 
These, however, are the ' defects of his merits. ' In 



NOTES 439 

PAGE NO. 

a certain depth and chivalry of feeling, — in the rare 
and noble quality of disinterestedness (to put it in 
one word),— he has no stiiDerior, hardly perhf^ps an 
equal, amongst our Poets ; and after or beside 
Shakespeare's Sonnets, his Astrojihel omcL Stella, in 
the Editor's judgment, offei-s the most intense and 
powerful picture of the passion of love in the whole 
range of our Tpoctry.—Hididi-eds of pears : ' The very 
rapture of love,' says Mr. Ruskin ; 'A lover like 
this does not believe his mistress can grow old 
or die.' 

12 19 Readers who have visited Italy will be reminded of 
more than one picture by this goi-gcous Vision of 
Beauty, equally sublime and pure in its Paradisaical 
naturalness. Lodge wrote it on a voyage to ' the 
Islands of Terceras and the Canaries ; ' and he 
seems to have caught, in those southern seas no 
small portion of the qualities which marked the 
almost contemporary Art of Venice, — the filory and 
the glow of Veronese, Titian, or Tintoret. — From the 
same romance is No. 71 : a charming picture in the 
purest style of the later Italian Renaissance. 
The clear (1. 1) is the crystalline or outermost 
heaven of the old cosmography. For a fair there's 
fairer none: If you desire a Beauty, there is none 
more beautiful than RosfiMne. 

14 22 Another gi-acious lyric from an Elizabethan Song- 
book, first reprinted (it is believed) in Mr. W. 
J. Linton's ' Rare Poems,' in 1883. 

ID 23 that fair thou owest : that beauty thou ownest. 

16 25 From one of the three Song-books of T. Campion, 
who appears to hav^e been author of the words 
which he set to music. His merit as a lyrical poet 
(recognized in his own time, but since then for- 
gotten) has been again brought to light by Mr. 
Bullen's taste and research: swerving (st. 2) is hia 
conjecture for changing in the text of 1601. 

20 31 the star Whose icorih's unknown although his height 
be taken: apparently. Whose stellar influence is 
uncalculated, although his angular altitude from the 
plane of the astrolabe or artificial horizon used by 
astrologers has been determined. 

20 32 This lovely song appears, as here given, in Putten- 
ham's ' Arte of English Poesie,' 1589. A longer and 
inferior form was published in the 'Arcadia' of 
1590 ; but Puttenham's prefatorj^ words clearly assign 
his version to Sidney's own authorship. 

23 37 keel : keep cooler bj^ stirring round. 

24 39 expense : loss. 
— 40 prease : press. 

25 41 Nativity, once in the tnain of light : when a star has 

»-'sen and entered on the full streaxa of ligrtt --^ 
auother of the astrological phrases no longer familiar. 



440 NOTES 



Crooked eciipsGsr: as comiug athwart the Sun'a 
apparent course. 

Wordsworth, thinking probably of the ' Venus' and 
the ' Lucrece,' said finelj' of Shakespeare ; ' Shake- 
speare con id not have written an Epic ; he would 
have died of plethora of thought.' This prodigality 
of nature is exemplified equally in his Sonnets. The 
copious selection here given (which from the wealth 
of the material, required gi-eater consideration than 
any other portion of the Editor's task), — contains 
many that will not be fullj^ felt and understood with- 
out some earnestness of thought on the reader's part. 
Bat he is not likely to regret the labour. 
2G 42 upon misprisioii qrovnng : either, granted in error, 
or, on the growth of contempt. 

— 43 With the tone of this Sonnet compare Hamlet's 

' Give me that man That is not passion's slave ' &c. 
Shakespeare's writings show the deepest sensitive- 
ness to passion : — hence the attraction he felt in the 
contrasting efifects of apathy. 
26 44 grame: sorrow. Renaissance influences long im- 
peded the return of English poets to the charming 
realism of this and a few other poems by Wyat. 

28 45 Pandion in the ancient fable was father to 

Philomela. 

29 47 In the old legend it is now Philomela, now Procne 

(the swallow) avIio suffers violence from Tereus. This 
song has a fascination in its calm intensity of 
passion ; that ' sad earnestness and vivid exact- 
ness' which Cardinal Newman ascribes to the 
master-pieces of ancient poetry. 

31 50 p?'ovet? : approved. 

— 51 censv/res : judges, 

— 52 Exquisite in its equably-balanced metrical flow. 

32 53 Judging by its style, this beautiful example of old 

simplicity and feeling may, perhaps, be referred to 
the earlier years of Elizabeth. Late forgot : lately. 

35 57 Printed in'a little Anthology by Nicholas Breton, 

1597. It is, however, a stronger and finer piece of 
work than any known to be his. — St. 1 sUly : simple ; 
dole: grief; clt-lef : chiefly. St. 3 If there be . . . : 
obscure : Perhaps, if there be anj'^ who speak harshly 
of thee, thy pain may plead for pity from Fate. 
This poem, with t50 and 143, are each graceful 
variations of a long popular theme. 

36 68 I'hat husn archer : Cupid. Descries: used actively; 

points out. — ' The last Ime of this poem is a little 
obscured by transposition. He means. Do they call 
ungratefulness there a virtue?' (C. Lamb). 

37 59 White lope: suggested, Mr. Bullen notes, by a 

passage in Propertius (iii, 20) describing Spirits in 
the lower world : 

Vobiscura est lope, vobiscum Candida Tyro. 



NOTES 44X 

PAGE NO. 

38 62 cypres or Cyprus,— used by the old writers for crape 

whether from the French cnspe or from the Island 
whence it was imported. Its accidental similarity 
m spelling to ctrpresx has, here and in Milton's 
Pensoroso, probably confused readers. 

39 63 ramags : confused noise. 

41 G6 'I never saw anything like this funeral dirge,' saj's 
Charles Lamb, ' except the ditty which reminds Fer- 
dinand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As 
that is of the water, watery ; so this is of the earth, 
earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, whlcL 
seems to resolve itself into the element which it 
contemplates.' 

43 70 Paraphrased from an Italian madrigal, 

Non so conoscer poi 

Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi. 

44 72 crystal: fairness. 

45 73 stare : stalling. 

— 74 This ' Spousal Verse ' was written in honour of the 
Ladies Elizabe th and Katherine Somerset. Nowhere 
has Spenser more emphatically displayed himself as 
the very poet of Beauty : The Rejiaissance impulse 
^1 England is here seen at its highest and purest. 
Ihe genius of Spenser, like Chaucer's, does itself 
justice only m poems of some length. Hence it is 
impossible to represent it in this volume by other 
pieces of equal merit, but of impracticable dimen- 
sions. And the sanae applies to such poems as the 
Lover s Lament or the Ancient Mariner. 

46 — entraUed : twisted. Feateously : elegantly. 

48 — shend : shame. 

49 — a noble peer : Robert Devcreux, second Lord Essex, 

then at the height of his brief triumph after taking 
Cadiz : hence the allusion following to the Pillars of 
Hercules, placed near Gades by ancient legend 

— — Elisa: Elizabeth. 

jO — twins of Jove: the stars Castor and Pollux: baldric. 
belt ; the zodiac. 

52 79 This lyric may with very high probability be assigned 
,° X^x^^a^"' "^ ^""^^^^ ^^'^^ ^^^^ of ^""S it appeared 
(loOl), Ihe evidence sometimes quoted ascribing it 
to Lord Bacon appears to be valueless. 

Summary of Book Second. 

This division, embracing generally the latter eighty years of 
the Seventeenth century, contains the close of our Early 
poetical style and the commencement of the Modern In 
Dryden we see the first master of the new : in Milton, whose 
genius dominates here as Shakespeare's in the former book ~ 
the crown and consummation of the early period. Their splen- 
A A 



442 NOTES 



did Odes are far in advance of any prior attempts, Spenser's 
excepted : they exhibit that wider and grander range which 
years and experience and the struggles of the time conferred 
on Poetry. Our Muses now give expression to political feel- 
ing, to religious thought, to a high philosophic statesmanship 
in writers such as Marvell, Herbert, and Wotton : whilst in 
Marvell and Milton, again, we find noble attempts, hitherto 
rare in our literature, at pure description of nature, destined 
in our own age to be continued and equalled. Meanwhile the 
poetrj' of simple passion, although before 1660 often deformed 
by verbal fancies and conceits of thought, and afterwards by 
levity and an artificial tone, — produced in Herrickand Waller 
some charming pieces of more finished art than the Eliza- 
bethan : until in the courtly compliments of Sedley it seems 
to exhaust itself, and lie almost dormant for the hundred years 
between the daj-s of Wither and Suckling and the days of 
Burns and Cowper. — That the change from our earl}' style to 
the modern brought with it at first a loss of nature and 
simplicity is undeniable : yet the bolder and wider scope 
which Poetry took between 1620 and 1700, and the successful 
efforts then made to gain greater clearness in expression, in 
their results have been no slight compensation. 



PAGE NO. 

58 85 1.8 whist : hushed. 

— — 1. 32 than : obsolete for then : Pan : used here for the 
Lord of all. 

59 — 1. 38 consort; Milton's spelling of this word, here 

and elsewhere, has been followed, as it is uncertain 
whether he used it in the sense of accompanying, or 
simply for concert. 

61 — 1. 21 Lars and Lemures : household gods and spirits 

of relations dead. FLamens (1. 24) Roman priests. 
That twice-batter'd pod (1. 29) Dagon. 

62 — 1. 6 Osiris, the Egyptian god of Agriculture (here, 

perhaps by confusion with Apis, figured as a Bull), 
was torn to pieces by Typho and embalmed after 
death in a sacred chest. This mythe, reproduced in 
Syria and Greece in the legends of Thammuz, Adonis, 
and perhaps Absyrtus, may have originally signified 
the annual death of the Sun or the Year under the in- 
fluences of the winter darkness. Horus, the son of 
Osiris, as the New Year, in his turn overcomes Typho. 
L. 8 unshower'd grass : as watered by the Nile only. 
L. 33 voungest-teemed : last-born. Bright-harness' d 
(1. 37) armoured. 
64 87 The Late Massacre : the Vaudois persecution, carried 
on in 1655 by the Duke of Savoy. No more mighty 
Sonnet than this 'collect in verse,' as it has been 
justly named, probalily can be found in any language. 
Readers should observe that it is constructed on the 
original Italian or Provencal model. This form, in a 



PAGE NO. 

language such as ours,not affluent in rhyme, presents 
great difficulties ; the rhymes are apt to be forced, or 
the substance commonplace. But, when successfully- 
handled, it has a unity and a beauty of effect which 
place the strict Sonnet above the less compact and 
less lyrical systems adopted by Shakespeare, Sidney 
Spenser, and other Elizal-cthan poets. ' 

85 88 Cromwell returned from Ireland in 1650, and Marvell 
probably w-rote his lines soon ufter, whilst living at 
Nunappleton in the Fairfax household. It is hence 
not surprising that (st. 21—24) he should have been 
deceived by Cromw-ell's professed submissiveness to 
the Parliament which, when it declined to register 
his decrees, he expelled by armed violence :— one 
despotism, by natural law, replacing another. The 
poet's insight has, howrever, truly prophesied that 
result in his last two lines. 

This Ode, beyond doubt one of the finest in oiu' lan- 
guage, and more in Milton's style th.an has been 
reached by any other poet, is occasionally obscure 
from mutation of the condensed Latin syntax. The 
meaning of st. 5 is ' rivalry or hostility are the same 
to a lofty spirit, and limitation more hateful than op- 
position.' The allusion inst. 11 is to the old physical 
doctrines of the non-existence of a vacuum and the 
impenetrability of matter :— in st. 17 to the omen 
traditionally connected with the foundation of the 
Capitol at Rome :— /«rmi, fated. The ancient belief 
that certain years in life complete natui-al periods 
and are hence peculiarly exposed to death, is intro- 
duced in St. 2li by the word climacteric. 

68 89 Lvcidas : The person here lamented is Milton's col- 

lege contemporary, Edward King, drowned in 1637 
whilst crossing from Chester to Ireland. 
Strict Pastoral Poetry was first written or perfected 
by the Dorian Greeks settled in Sicily : but the con- 
ventional use of it, exhibited more magnificently in 
Lycidas than in any other pastoral, is apparently of 
Roman origin. Milton, employing the noble free- 
dom of a gi-eat artist, has here united ancient mytho- 
logy, with what may be called the modern mythology 
of Camus and Saint Peter,— to direct Christian 
images. Yet the poem, if it gains in historical in- 
terest, suffers in poetry by the harsh intrusion of the 
writer's narrow and violent theological pohtics.— 
The metrical structure of this glorious elegy is partly 
derived from Itahan models ^j f ^ 

69 — 1. 11 Sisters of the sacred icell : the IMuses, said to 

n-equent the Pierian Spring at the foot of Mount 
Olympus. 

70 — 1 10 Moiia : Anglesea, called by the Welsh poets, the 

Dark Island, from its dense forests. Deva (1. 11) the 
Dee : a river which may have derived its magical 
A A 2 



444 NOTES 

PAGE NO. 

character from Celtic traditions : it was long the 
boundary of Briton and English. — These places are 
introduced, as being near the scene of the shipwreck. 
Orphtun (1. 14) was torn to i)ieces by Thracian women. 
Amaryllis and Neaera (1. 24, 25) names used here for 
the love-idols of poets : as bamoetax previously for a 
shepherd. L. 31 the Mind Fury : Atrojios, fabled to 
cut the thread of life. 
71 89 Arcihuse (1. l)ard Mincius : Sicilian and Italian 
waters here alluded to as representing the pastoral 
poetry of Theocritus and Vergil. L. 4 oat : pipe, 
used hero like Collins' oaten stop \. 1, No. 186, for 
Song. L. 12 Hip/^otades: Aeolu.s, god of the Winds. 
Panope (1. 15) a Nereid. Ccitain names of local deities 
- in the Hellenic mythology render some feature in the 
natural landscape, which the Greeks studied and 
analysed with their usual unequalled insight and 
feeling. Panope seems to express the boundlessness 
of the ocean-horizon when seen from a height, as 
compared with the limited sky-line of the land in 
hilly countries such as Greece or Asia ]\Iinor, Camus 
(1. 19) the Cam : put for King's University, The san- 
guine flower (1. 22) the Hyacinth of the ancients : 
probably our Iris. The Pilot (1. 2.5) Saint Peter, 
figuratively introduced as the head of the Church on 
earth, to foretell ' the rain of om- corrupted clergy,' 
as Milton regarded them, ' then in their heighth' 
under Laud's primacy. 
'■', — 1. 1 scrannel : screeching ; apparently Wilton's coin- 
age (Masson). L. 5 the wolf : the Puritans of the 
time were excited to alai-ni and persecution by a few 
conversions to Roman Cathi^licism which had 
recently occurred. Al-pheus (1. 9) a stream in Southern 
Greece, supjiosed to flow luiderseas to join the 
Arethuse. bit-art star (1. 15) the Dog-star, called 
swarthy because its heliacal rising in ancient times 
occurred soon after midsummer : 1. 19 rathe : early. 
L. 36 rnoist vows : either tearful prayers, or prayers for 
one at sea. Bellerus (L 37) a giant, apparently created 
here by Milton to personify Belerium, the ancient 
title of the Land's End. The great Vidon : — the story 
was that the Archangel Michael had appeared on 
the rock by Marazion izi Mount's Baj?^ which boars 
his name. Milton calls on him to turn his eyes from 
the south homeward, and to pity Lycidas, if his 
body has drifted into the troubled waters off the 
Land' s End. Finisterre being the land due south 
of Marazion, two places in that district (then through 
our trade with Coruiuia probably less unfamiliar 
to English ears), are named, — Navi'incos now Mujio 
in Galicia, Bai/ona north of the Minho, or perhaps a 
fortified rock (one of the Cies Islands) not unlike 
Saint Michael's Mount, at the entrance of Vigo Bay. 



NOTES 445 



PAGE NO. 

73 89 1. 6 ore : raj's of golden light. Bc^ic lay (1. 25) 
Sicilian, pastorMl. 

75 93 The assault was an attack on London expected vA 
1642, when the troops of Charles I. reached Brent- 
ford. ' Written on his door ' was in the original title 
of this sonnet, ililton was then living in Aldersgate 
Street. 

The EmatJiian Conqueror: When Thebes was de- 
stroyed (b c. 335) and the citizens massacred by 
thousands, Alexander ordered the house of Pindar 
to be spared. 

? — 1. 2, the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet : Plutarch 
has a tale that when the Spartan confederacy in 404 
B.C. took Athens, a proposal to demolish it was 
rejected through the effect produced on the com- 
manders by hearing part of a chorus from the Electra 
of Euripides sung at a feast. There is however no 
apparent congruity between the lines quoted (1(}7, 
1(58 Ed. Dindorf) and the result ascribed tu them. 

M^ 95 A fine example of a peculiar class of Poetry ; — that 
written by thoughtful men who practised this Art 
but little. Jeremy Taj^or, Bishop Berkeley, Dr. 
Johnson, Lord Macaulay, have left similar speci- 
mens. 

78 98 These beautiful verses should be compared with 

Wordsworth's great Ode on rnimortality : and a copy 
of Vaughan's very rare little volume apj^ears in the 
list of Wordsworth's library. — In imaginative in- 
tensity, Vaughan stands beside his contemporary 
Marvell. 

79 99 Favonius : the spring wind. 

80 100 Themis : the goddess of justice. Skinner was 

grandson by his mother to Sir E. ,Coke : — hence, 
as pointed out by Mr. Keightley, Milton's allusion 
to the bench. L. 8 : Sweden was then at war with 
Poland, and France with the Spanish Netherlands. 

82 103 1. 28 Sldneian shoicers : either in allusion to the 
conversations in the ' Arcadia, ' or to Sidney himself 
as a model of ' gentleness ' in spirit and demeanour. 

85 105 Delicate humour, delightfully united to thought, at 
once simple and subtle. It is full of conceit and 
paradox, but these are imaginative, not as with most 
of our Seventeenth Century poets, intellectual only. 

88 110 Elizabeth of Bohemia : Daughter to James I, and 

ancestor of Sophia of Hanover. Tnese lines are a 
fine specimen of gallant and courtly compliment. 

89 111 Lady M. Ley was daughter to Sir J Ley, afterwards 

Earl of Marlborough, who died March, 1629, coin-, 
cidently with the dissolution of the third Parliament 
of Charles' reign. Hence Milton poeticallj' compares 
his death to that of the Orator Isocrates of Athens, 
after Philip's victory in 328 B.C. 
93 118 A masterpiece of humour, grace, and gentle feelinjf 



446 NOTES 

PAGE NO. 

all, with Herrick's unfailing art, kept precisely 
within the peculiar key which he chose, — or Natura 
for him, — in his Pastorals. L. 2 tlie. god unshorn: 
Imberbis Apollo. St. 2 beads : prayers. 
96 123 With better taste, and less diffuseness, Quai-les 
might (one would think) have retained more of that 
high place which he held in popular estimate among 
his contemporaries. 
99 1.''7 From Prison : to which his active support of Charles 
I twice brought the high-spirited writer. L. 7 
Gods : thus in the original ; Lovelace, in his fanciful 
way, making here a mythological allusion. Birds, 
commonly substituted, is without authority. St. 3, 
1. 1 committed ; to prison. 
100 128 St. 2 1. 4 blue-god : Neptvme. 

104 133 iVali/ waly : an exclamation of son-ow, the root^and 

the pronunciation of which are preserved in the word 
caterwaul. Brae, hillside : burn, Ijrook : busk, 
adorn. Saint Anton's Well: below Arthur's Seat 
by Edinburgh. Cramasie, crimson. 

105 134 This beautiful example of early simplicity is found 

in a Song-book of 1620. 

106 135 hurd, maiden. 

107 136 corbies, crows ifail, turf : havie, neck ; theek, thatch. 

— If not in their origin, in tlieir present form this, 
with the ijreceding poem and 133, appear due to the 
Seventeenth Century, and have therefore been placed 
in Book II. 

108 137 The poetical and the prosaic, after Cowley's fasnion, 

blend curiously in this deeply-felt elegy. 

112 141 Perhaps no poem in this collection is more delicately 

fancied, more exquisitely finished. By placing his 
description of the Fawn in a young girl's mouth, 
Marvell has, as it were, legitimated that abundance 
of 'imaginative hyperbole ' to which he is always 
partial : he makes us feel it natural that a maiden's 
favourite should be whiter than milk, sweeter than 
sugar — 'lilies without, roses within.' The poet's 
imagination is j ustified in its seeming extravagance 
by the intensity and unity with which it invests his 
picture. 

113 142 The remark quoted in the note to No. 65 applies 

equally to these truly wonderful verses. Marvell here 
throws himself into the very soul of the Garden with 
the imaginative intensity of Shelley in his W^t 
Wind. — This poem appears also as a translation in 
Marvell's works. The most striking verses in it, 
here quoted as the book is rare, answer more or less 
to stanzas 2 and 6 : — 

Alma Quies, teneo te ! et te, germana Quietis, 
Simplicitas ! vos ergo diu per templa, per urbes 
Quaesivi, regum perque alta palatia, frustra : 
Sed vos hortorum per opaca silentia, longe 
Celarunt plantae virides, et concolor umbr;; 



NOTES 447 



PAGE NO. 

115 143 St. 3 tutties : nosegays. St. 4 silly : simple. 

L' Allegro and 11 Penseroso. It is a striking proof of' 
Milton's astonishing power, that these, the earliest 
great Lyrics of the Landscaije in our language, 
should still remain supreme in their style for 
range, variety, and melodious beauty. The Bright 
/ and the Thoughtful aspects of Nature and of Life 
are their subjects : but each is preceded by a 
mythological introduction in a mixed Classical and 
Italian manner. — With that of i'^-i^^p^j-omiauy be com- 
pared a similar mj'the in the first Section of the 
first Book of S. Marmion's graceful Cupid and 
Psyche, 1637. 

116 144 T/ie mountain-nymph : compare Wordsworth's Sonnet, 

No. 254. L. 38 is m apposition to the preceding, byr 
a syntactical license not imcommon with Milton. 

118 — 1. 14 Cynosure; the Pole Star. Corydon, Tkyrsis; 

&c. : Shepherd names from the old Idylls. Rebeck 
(1. 28) an elementary form of violin. 

119 — 1. 24 Jonsoiis Learned sock : His comedies are deeply- 

coloured by classical study. L. 28 Lydian airs: 
used here to express a light and festive style of 
ancient music. The 'Lydian Mode,' one of the. 
seven original Greek Scales, is nearly identical with . 
our ' Major.' 

120 145 I. 3 bestead: avail. L. 19 starred Ethiop queen:. 

Cassiopeia, the legendary Queen of Ethiopia, and 
thence translated amongst the constellations. 

121 — Cynthia : the Moon : Milton seems here to have . 

transferred to her chariot the dragons anciently 
assigned to Demeter and to Medea. 

122 — //en/ies, called Trismegistus, a mystical writer of the 

Neo-Platonist school. L. 27 Thebes, &c. : subjects 
of Athenian Tragedy. Buskin' d (1. 30) tragic, in. 
opposition to sock above. L. 32 Musaeus: a poet in 
Mythology. L. 37 him that left half-told: Chaucer 
in his incomplete ' Squire's Tale. ' 
12S — great bards: Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser, are here 
presumably intended. L. 9 /Vouncfrf; curled. The 
Attic Boy (1. 10) Cephalus. 

124 146 Emigrants supposed to be driven towards America 

by the goveinment of Charles I. 

125 — 1. 9, 10. But apples, &c. A fine example of Marvell's 

imaginative hyperbole. 
— 147 1. 6 concent: harmony. 

128 149 A lyric of a strange, fanciful, yet solemn beauty :^ 

Cctwley's style intensified by the mysticism of Henry 
More. — St. 2 monument : the World. 

129 151 Entitled ' A Song in Honour of St. Cecilia's Day: 



448 NOTES 



Summary of Book Third. 

It is more difficult to characterize the English Poetrj' of the 
Eighteenth centuiy than that of any other. For it was an age 
not only of spontaneous transition, but of fcali experiment : 
it includes not onlj^ such absolute contrasts as distinguish 
the ' Rape of the Lock' from the 'Parish Register,' but such 
vast contemporaneouo differences as lie between Pope and 
Collins, Bums and Cowper. Yet we may clearly trace three 
le-ading moods or tendencies : — the asj)octs of courtly or 
educated life represented by Pope and carried to e: haustion 
by his followers ; the poetiy of Nature and of Man, viewed 
through a cultivated, and at the same time an impassioned 
frame of mind by Collins and Gray : — lastly, the r.tudj'^ of vivid 
and simple narrative, inclLiding natural description, begun by 
Gaj"^ and Thomson, pursued by Burns and others in the 
north, and established in England by Goldsmith, Percy, 
Crabbe, and Cowper Great varieties in style accompanied 
these diversities in aim : poets could not always distinguish 
the manner suitable for subjects so far apart : and the union 
of conventional and of common language, exhibited most con- 
spicuously by Bums, has given a tone to the poetry of that 
century which is better explained by reference to its historical 
origin than by naming it artificial. There is, again, a noble- 
ness of thought, a courageous aim at high and, in a strict 
sense manly, excellence in many of the writers :— nor can that 
period be justly termed tame and wanting in originality, 
w^hich produced poems such as Pope's Saf-ircs, Gray's Odes 
and Elegy, the TjpJlads of Gay and Carej'^, the songs of Bums 
and Cowper. In truth Poetry at this, as at all times, was 
a more or less uiiconscious mirror of the genius of the age: 
and the many complex causes which made the Eighteenth 
century the turning-time in modern European civilization are 
also more or less reflected in its verse An intelhgent reader 
will find th« influence of Newton as markedly in the poems of 
Pope, as of Elizabeth in the plays of Shakespeare. On 
this great subject, however, these indications must here be 
sufficient. 



PAGE NO. 

134 153 We have no poet more marked by rapture, by the 
ecstasy which Plato held the note of genuine inspira- 
tion, than Collins. Yet but twice or thrice do his 
lyrics reach that simplicity, that sinceram senuonis 
Attici giatiaui to which this ode testifies his enthu- 
siastic devotion. His style, as his friend Dr. 
Johnson truly remarks, was obscure ; his diction 
often harsh and unskilfully laboured ; he struggles 
nobly against the uari'ow, artificial manner of his age, 
but his too scanty yeai's did not allow him to reach 
perfect mastery. 



NOTES 449 



St. 3 Hyhla: near S5rracuse. Her tchoge . . . wot: 
the niglitingale, 'for which Sophocles seems to have 
entertained a peculiar fondness ' ; Collins here refers 
to the famous chorus in the Oedi'pv.s at Colonus. 
St. 4 Cephisiis : the stream encircling Atliens on the 
north and west, passing Colonus. St. 6 stay'd to 
sing; staj^ed her song when Imperial tyranny was 
established at Rome. St. 7 refers to the Italian 
amourist pcetry of the Renaissance : In Collins' 
day, Dante was almost unknown in England. St. 
8 meeting soul : which moves sympathetically to- 
wards simplicity as she comes to inspire the poet. 
St. 9 Of these : Taste and Genius. 
The Bard. In 175T, when this splendid ode was 
completed, so very little had been printed, whether 
in Wales or in England, in ref^ard to Welsh poetry, 
that it is hard to discover wiience Gray dixw his 
Cymric {illusions. The faVjled massacre of the Bards 
(shown to be wholly groundless in Stephens' Lite)-a- 
ture of the Kymryi appears first in the family history 
of Sir Oohn Wynn of GT^^dir (cir. 1600), not published 
till 1773 ; but the story seems to have passed in MS. 
to Carte's History, whence it maj' have been taken 
by Gray. The references to high-born Iloel and soft 
Llewellyn : to Cnd/'-aJlo and C'rieii : may, similarly, 
have been derived from the 'Specimens' of early 
Welsh poetry, by the Rev E. Evans : — as, although 
not published till 1704, the MS., we learn from 
a letter to Dr. Wharton, was in Gray's hands by 
July 1760, and may have reached him by 1757. It 
is, however, doubtful whether Gray 'of whose ac- 
quaintance with Welsh we have no evidence) must 
not have been also aided by some Welsh scholar. He 
is one of the poets least likely to scatter ei>ithets at 
random : ' soft ' or gentle is the epithet emphatically 
and specially given to Llevvelyn in contemporary 
Welsh poetry, and is hence here used with particular 
propriety. Yet, without such assistance as we have 
suggested, Gray could hardly have selected the 
epithet, although applied to the King (p. 141-8) 
among a crowd of others, in Llygad Gwr's Ode, 
piinted by Evans. — After lamenting his comrades 
(st. 2, 3) the Bard prophesies the fate of Edward II, 
and the conquests of Edward III (4) : his death 
and that of the Black Prince (5) : of Richard II, with 
the wars of York and Lancaster, the murder of 
Henry \'I {the meek usurinr), and of Edward V and 
his T)rother (6). He turns to the glory and pros- 
perity following the accession of the Tudors (7), 
'through Elizabeth's reign (8) : and concludes with a 
vision of the poetry of Shakespeare and Milton. 
140 159 1. 13 Glo'ster : Gilbert de Clare, son-in-law to Edward 
Mortiwr^ one of the Lords Marchers of Wales. 



450 NOTES 

PAGE NO, 

141 159 High-born FToel, soft Ueicellyn (1. 15) ; the DissertatU 
deBardis of Evans names the first as son to the King 
Owain Gwynedd : Llewelyn, last King of North 
Wales, was murdered 1282. J.. It5 CadimUo: Cad- 
wallon (died 631) and Urien Rheged (early kings of 
Gwynedd and Cumbria respectively) are mentioned 
by Evans (p. 78) as bards none of whose poetry is ex- 
tant. L. -0 Modred : Evans supplies no data for this 
name which Gray (it has been supposed) uses for 
Merlin (Myrddin Wyllt), held propliet as well as 
poet. — The Italicized lines marlc where the Bard's 
song is joined by that of his predecessors departed. 
L '22 Arvon : the shores of Carnarvonsliire opposite 
Anglesey. Whether intentionally or through ig- 
norance of the real dates. Gray here seems to 
represent the Bard as spealcing of these poets, 
all of earlier days, Llewelyn excepted, as his own 
contempoi'aries at the close of the thirteenth cen- 
tury. 

Gray, whose penetrating a,nd powerful genius ren- 
dered him in many ways an initiator in advance of 
his age, is probalily tlie first of our poets who made 
some acquaintance with the rich and admirable 
poetry in wliich Wales from tlie Sixth Century has 
been fertile, — before and since his time so barbar- 
ously neglected, not in England only. Hence it has 
been thought worth while hei-e to enter into a little 
■detail upon his Cymric allusions. 

142 — 1. 5 Ske-wolf: Isabel of France, adulterous Queen of 

Edward II. — L. 3o Toicers of Julius : the Tower of 
Ijondon, built in part, according to tradition, by 
Julius Caesar. 

143 — 1. 2 bristled boar: the badge of Richard III. L. V 

Half of thy heart: Queen Eleanor died soon after the 
conquest of Wales. L. 18 Arthur : Henry VII named 
his eldest son thus, in deference to native feeling and 
story. 

144 161 The Highlanders called the battle of Culloden, 

Drumossie. 

145 162 lilting, singing blithely : loaning, broad lane : bughts, 

pens: scorning, ralljdng: dovne, dreariJ^ : daffin' mid 
gabbiu', joking and chatting : leglin. milkpail : shear- 
ing, reaping : bandsters, sheaf-binders : h/art, grizzled: 
rankled, wrinkled : fleeching, coaxing : gloaming, 
twilight : bogle, ghost : dool, sorrow. 
147 164 The Editor has found no authoritative text of this 
poem, to his mind superior to any other of its clasf. 
in melody and pathos. Part is probably not latei 
than the seventeenth century : in other stanzas a 
more modern hand, much resembling Scott's, is 
traceable. Logan's poem (163^ exhibits a knowledge 
rather of the old legend than of the old verses.— 
Hecht, promised ; the obsolete hight : mavis, thrush : 



NOTES 451 



ilka, every : lav'roclc, lark : haughs, valley -meadows •. 
twined, parted fi-om : raarrov:, mate : syne, then. 

148 165 The l^oyal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a 
partial careening at Spithead, was overset about 10 
A.M. Aug. 29, 1782. The total loss was believed to be 
nearly 1000 souls. — This little poem might be called 
one of our trial-pieces, in regard to taste. The reader 
who feels the vigour of descrii>tion and the force of 
pathos underlying Cowper's bare and trulj^ Greek 
simplicity of phrase, may assure himself se valde 
■profecisse in poetry. 

151 167 A little masteri^iece in a very difficult style : Catullus 
himself could hardly have bettered it. In grace, 
tenderness, simplicity, and humour, it is worthy of 
the Ancients : and even more so, from the complete- 
ness and unity of the picture presented. 

155 172 Perhaps no writer who has given such strong proofs 

of the poetic nature has left less satisfactory 
poetry than Thomson. Yet this song, with ' Rule 
Britannia ' and a few others, must make us regret 
that he did not more seriously apply himself to 
lyrical writing. 

156 174 With what insight and tenderness, yet in how few 

words, has this painter-poet here himself told Love's 
Secret ! 

157 177 1. \ Aeolian lyre : the Greeks ascribed the origin of 

their Lyrical Poetry to the Colonies of Aeolis in Asia 
Minor. 

158 — Thracia's hills (1. 9) supposed a favourite resort of 

Mars. Feather' d king (1. 13) the Eagle of Jupiter, 
admirably described by Pindar in a passage here 
imitated by Gray. Jdcdia (1. 19) in Cyprus, where 
Cytherea (Venus) was especially worshifiped. 

159 — 1. 6 Hyperion: the Sun. St. 6—8 allude to the Poets 

of the Islands and Mainland of Greece, to those of 
Rome and of England. 

160 — I. 27 Thehan Eagle : Pindar. 

163 178 1. 5 chaste-eyed Queen : Diana. 

164 179 Prom that wild rhapsody of nnngled grandeur, ten- 

derness, and obscurity, that 'medley between in- 
spiration and possession,' which poor Smart is 
believed to have written whilst in confinement for 
madness. 

165 181 the dreadful light : of life and experience. 

166 182 Attic warbler : the nightingale. 

168 184 sleekit, sleek : bickering brattle, flittering flight : laith^ 
loth : pattle, ploughstaff : ichyles, at times : adaimea- 
icker, a corn-ear now and then : thrave, shock : lave, 
rest : foggage, after-grass : snell, biting : but ha.ld, 
without dwelling-place : thole, bear : cranreuch, h.oar- 
frost : thy lane, alone : a-gley, off the right lin^ 
awry. 

17o 188 stoure, dust-storm ; braic, smart. 

176 189 scaith, hurt : tent, guard : star, molest. 



452 NOTES 



PAGE NO. 

177 191 drumlie, muddy: birk, birch. 

178 192 greet, cry : daurna, dare not.— There can hardlj 

exist a poem more truly ti-agic in the highest sense 
tlian this : nor, perhaps, Sappho excepted, has anj 
Poetess equalled it. ' 

180 193 fou, merry with drink : coost, carried : %inco skeigk, 

very proud : gart, forced : abeigh, aside : Ailsa craig, 
a rock in the Kirtli of Clyde : grat his een bleert, 
cried till his eyes were bleared : loicpin, leaping : 
linn, waterfall: saW, sore: smoor'd, smothered: 
crouse and canty, blithe and gay. 

181 3.M Burns justly named this ' one of the most beautiful 

songs in the Scots or any other language. ' One stanza, 
interpolated by Beattie, is here omitted : — it contains 
two good lines, but is out of hni^mony with the 
original poem. Bigonet, little cap : probably altered 
from beguiiUtte : tkraw, twist: caller, fresh. 
"182 195 Burns himself, despite two attempts, failed to im- 
prove this little absolute masterpiece of music, ten- 
derness, and simplicity : this ' Bomance of a life ' in 
eight lines.— £'e/-?e; strictly, scared: uneasy. 

183 196 airfs, quarters : row, roll : sluw, small wood in a 

hollow, spinney : knowes, knolls. The last two 
stanzas are not by Burns. 

184 197 jo, sweetheart : IrciH, smooth : poic, head. 
— 198 leal, faithful. St. 3 /am, happy. 

185 199 Henry VI founded Eton. 

188 200 Written in 1773, towards the beginning of Cowper's 
second attack of melancholy madness— a time when 
he altogether gave up prayer, saying, ' For him to 
implore mercy would only anger God the more.' 
Yet had he g-ivcn it up when sane, it would have 
been 'maior insania.' 

191 203 The Editor would venture to class in the very first 
rank this Sonnet, which, with 204, records Cowper's 
gi-atitude to the Lady whose affectionate care for 
many years gave what sweetness he could enjoy to a 
life radicallj'' wretched. Petrarch's sonnets have a 
more ethereal gi-acc and a more perfect finish : Shake- 
speare's more passion ; Milton's stand supreme in 
stateliness ; Wordsworth's in depth and delicacy. 
But Cowper's unites with an exquisiteness in the 
turn of thought which the ancients would have 
called Irony, an intensity of pathetic tenderness 
peculiar to his loving and ingenuous nature.— There 
is much mannerism, much that is unimportant or 
of now exhausted interest in his poems : but where 
he is great, it is with that elementary gi-eatness 
which rests on the most universal human feelings. 
Cowper is our highest master in simple pathos. 

193 205 Cowper's last original poem, foutided \ipon a story 
told in Anson's 'Voyages.' It was written March 
1799 ; he died in next year's April. 

195 206 Very little except his name appears recoverable with 



NOTES 453 



regard to the author of this truly noble poem, which 
appeared iii the ' Scripscrapologia, or Collins' 
Doggerel Dish of All Sorts,' with three or four 
other pieces of merit, Birmingham, 1804. — Ever- 
lasting : used with side-allusion to a cloth so named, 
at the time when Collins wrote. 



Summary of Booh Fotcrth 

It proves suflQciently the lavish wealth of our own age in 
Poetry, that the pieces which, without conscious departure 
from the Standard of Excellence, render this Book by far the 
longest, were with very few exceptions composed during the 
first thu'ty years of the Nineteenth centurjr Exhaustive 
reasons can hardly be given for the strangely siidden appear- 
ance of individual genius : that, however, which assigns the 
splendid national achievements of our recent poetry to an im- 
pulse from the France of the first Republic and Empire is in- 
adequate. The first French Revolution was rather one result, — 
the most conspicuous, indeed, yet itself in great measure 
essentially retrogressive, — of that wider and more potent 
spirit which through enquiry and attempt, through strength 
and weakness, sweeps mankind round the circles (not, as 
some too confidently argue, of Advance, but) of gi-adual 
Transformation : and it is to this that we nuist trace the 
literature of Modern Eiu-ope. But, without attempting dis- 
cussion on the motive causes of Scott, Wordsworth, Shelley, 
and others, we may observe that these Poets carried to f ui-ther 
perfection the later tendencies of the Centxu-y preceding, in 
simplicity of narrative, reverence for human Passion and 
Character in everj- sphere, and love of Nature for herself : — 
that, whilst maintaining on the whole the advances in art made 
since the Restoration, they renewed the half- forgotten melody 
and depth of tone which marked the best Elizabethan writers : 
— that, lastly, to what was thus inherited they added a rich- 
ness in langviage and a variety in metre, a force and fire in 
narrative, a tenderness and bloom in feeling, an insight into 
the finer passages of the Soul and the inner meanings of the 
landscape, a larger sense of Humanity, — hitherto scarcely at- 
tained, and perhaps unattainaVjle even by predecessors of not 
inferior individual genius. In a word, the Nation which, 
after the Gi-eeks in their gloiy, may fairly claim that during 
six centuries it has proved itself the most richly gifted of 
all nations for Poetry, expressed in these men the highest 
strength and prodigaJity of its nature. They interpreted the 
age to itself — hence the manj^ phases of thought and style 
tiiey present : — to sympathise with each, fersrently and im- 
partially, without fear and without fancifulness, is no doubt- 
ful step in the higher education of the soul. For purity in 
taste is absolutely proportionate to strength— and when once 
the mind has raised itself to grasp and to delight in excellence, 
those who love most will be found to love most wisely. 



454 



NOTES 



But the gallery which this Book offers to the reader wil 
aid him more than any preface. It is a royal Palace of Poetry 
which he is invited to enter : 

Adparet domvis intus, et atria longa patescunt — 

though it is, indeed, to the sympathetic eye only that its 
treasures will Vje visible. 



PAGE NO. 

197 208 This beautiful Ij^ric, printed in 1783, seeliis to antici 
pate in its imaginative music that return to our great 
early age of song, which in Blake's own lifetime was 
to prove, — how gloriously ! that the English Muses 
had resimied their ' ancient melody ' : — Keats, 
Shelley, Byron,— he overlived them all. 

199 210 stoiU Corttz : History would here suggest Balboa : 
(A.T.) It may be noticed, that to find in Chapman's 
Homer the ' pure serene ' of the original, the reader 
must bring with him the imagination of the youth- 
ful poet ; — he must be 'a Greek himself,' as Shelley 
finely said of Keats. 

202 212 The most tender and true of Byron's smaller poems. 

203 213 This poem exemplifies the peculiar skill with which 

Scott employs proper names :— a rarely misleading- 
sign of true poetical genius. 

213 226 Simple as L^ic^f Gray seems, a mere narrative of 
what ' has been, and may be again,' yet every touch 
in the child's picture is marked by the deepest and 
purest ideal character. Hence, pathetic as the 
situation is, this is not strictly apathetic poem, such 
as Wordsworth gives us in 221, I.am)> in 2(34, and 
Scott ill his Maid of Aeidpath ,^—' almost more 
pathetic,' as Tennyson once remarked, 'than a man 
has the right to be.* And Lyte's lovely stanzas 
(224) suggest, perhaps, the same remark. 

222 235 In this and in other instances the addition (or the 
change) of a Title has been risked, in hope that the 
aim of the piece foUov/ing may be grasped more 
clearly and immediately. 

228 242 This beautiful Sonnet was the last word of a youth, 
in whom, if the fulfilment may ever safely be pro- 
phesied from the promise, England lost one of the 
most rarely gifted in the long roll of her poets. 
Shakespeare and Milton, had their lives been closed 
at twenty-five, would (so far as we know) have left 
poems of less excellence and hope than the j'outh 
who, from the petty school and the London surgery, 
passed at once to a place with them of 'high 
collateral glory.' 

230 245 It is impossible not to regret that Moore has written 

so little in this sweet and genuinely national style. 

231 246 A masterly example of Byron's command of strong 



NOTES 4SS 



PAGE NO. 



thought and close reasoning in verse :— as the next is 
eqvially characteristic of Shelley's wayT\-ard intensity. 

240 253 Bonnivard, a Genevese was imprisoned by the Duke 

of Savoy in Cliillon on the lake of Geneva for his 
courageous defence of his country against the 
tyi-anny with which Piedmont threatened it during 
the first half of the Seventeenth century. — This noble 
Sonnet is worthy to stand near Milton's on the 
Vaudois massacre. 

241 2-54 Switzerland was usurped by the French under Nav)o- 

leon in 1800 : Venice in 1797 (255). 
243 259 This battle was fought Dec. 2, 1800, between the 

Austrian s imdcr ArcViduke John and the l^i-ench 

under Moreau, in a forest near Munich, lloher 

Linden means High Limetrees. 
247 262 After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir J. 

Moore retreated before Soult and Ney to Corunna, 

and was killed whilst covering the embarkation of 

his troops. 

257 272 The Mermaid was the club-house of Shakespeare, 

Ben Jonson, and other choice spirits of that age. 

258 273 Maisie : Mayj. — Scott has given us notliing more 

complete and lovely than this little song, which 
unites simplicity and dramatic power to a wild-wood 
music of the rarest quality. No moral is drawn, far 
less any conscious analysis of feeling attempted : — 
the pathetic meaning is left to be suggested by the 
mere presentment of the situation. A naiTow criti- 
cism has often named this, which may be called the 
Homeric manner, superficial, from its apparent 
simple facilitji- ; but first-rate excellence in it is in 
truth one of the least common triumphs of Poetry. — 
This style should be compared with what is not less 
perfect in its way, the searching out of inner feeling, 
the expression of hidden meanings, the revelation of 
the heart of Nature and of the Soul within the Soul, 
— the analytical method, in short, — most completely 
represented by Wordsworth and hj Shelley. 

263 277 "Wolfe resembled Keats, not only in his early deatn 
by consumption and the fluent freshness of his 
poetical style, but in beauty of character :— brave, 
tender, energetic, unselfish, modest. Is it fanciful 
to find some reflex of these qualities in the Burial 
and Man/ ? Out of the abundance of the htart . . . 

•264 278 co7-rei: co-°^ert on a liillside. Cumher : trouble. 

•265 280 This book has not a few poems of gi-eater power and 
more perfect oxecution than Armcs and the extract 
which we have ventured to make from the deep- 
hearted author's &ad TkouylUi (No 224). But none 
are more emphatically marked by the note of ex- 
quisiteness. 

266 281 St. 3 inch : island. 

•iTO 28? From Poetry for Children (1809), by Charles and Mary 



456 NOTES 

PAGE NO. 

Lamb. This tender and original little piece seema 
clearly to reveal the work of that noble-minded and 
afflicted sister, who was at once the hai^piness, the 
misery, and the life-long blessing of her equally 
noble-minded brother. 

278 289 This poem has an exultation and a glory, joined with 
an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the 
higliest rank among the many masterpieces of its 
illustrious Author. 

289 300 interlunar sicoon: interval of the moon's invisi- 
bility. 

294 304 Calpe: Gilbraltar. Lpfoden: the Maelstrom whirl- 

pool off the N. W. coast of Noi-way. 

295 305 This lovely poem refers here and there to a ballad by 

Hamilton on the subject better treated in 163 and 
1(54. 

307 815 Arcturi: seemingly used for northern stars. And 

wild rosea, d'c. Our language has perhaps no line 
modulated with more subtle sweetness. 

308 316 Coleridge describes this poem as the fragment of a 

dream- vision, — perhaps, an opium-dream ? — which 
composed itself in his mind when fallen asleep after 
reading a few lines about 'the Khan Kubla' in 
. Purchas' PUgrimage. 
312 318 Ce^-es' daughter: Proserpine. God of Torment: 
Pluto. 

320 321 The leading idea of this beautiful description of a 

day's landscape in Italy appears to be — On the voyage 
of life are many moments of pleasure, given by the 
sight of Nature, who has power to heal even the 
worldliness and the uncharity of man. 

321 — 1. 23 Amphitrite was davighter to Ocean. 

825 322 1. 21 Maenad: a frenzied Nymph, attendant on 
Dionysos in the Greek mythology. Maj'' we not call 
this the most vivid, sustained, and impassioned 
amongst all Shelley's magical personifications of 
Nature ? 

326 — 1. 5 Plants under water sympathize with the seasons 

of the land, and hence with the winds which aif ect 
them. 

327 323 Written soon after the death, by shipwi-eck, of 

Wordsworth's brother John. This poem may be pro- 
fitably compared with Shelley's following it. Each 
is the most complete expression of the innermost 
spirit of his art given by these gi-eat Poets : — of that 
Idea which, as in the case of the true Painter, (to 
quote the words of Reynolds, ) ' subsists only in the 
mind : The sight never beheld it, nor has the hand 
expressed it : it is an idea residing in the breast of 
the artist, which he is always labouring to impart^ 
and which he dies at last without imparting, ' 

328 — the Kind : the human race. 
331 327 tht Royal Saint : Henry VI. 



NOTES 457 

PAGE NO. * 

331 328 St. 4 this folk : its has been here plausibly but, per- 
haps, unnecessarilj-, conjectured. — Every one 
knows the general story of the Italian Renais- 
sance, of the Revival of Letters — From Pe- 
trarch's clay to our own, that ancient world has 
renewed its youth: Poets and artists, students 
and thinkers, have yielded themselves wholly to 
its fascination, and deeply penetrated its spirit. 
Yet perhaps no one more truh^ has vivified, whilst 
idealising, the picture of Greek country life in 
the fancied Golden Age, than Keats in these 
lovely (if somewhat unequally executed) stanzas : 
— his quick imagination, by a kind of 'natural 
magic,' more than supplying the scholarship 
which his youth had no opportunity of gaining. 

105 134 These stanzas are by Richard Verstegan ( — c. 
1635) a poet and antiquarian, published in his 
rare Odes (1601), under the title Our Blessed 
Ladies Lullaby, and reprinted by Mr. Orby 
Shipley in his beautiful Carmina Mariana (1S93). 
The four stanzas here given form the opening 
of a hymn of twenty-four. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Second Half of the Nineteenth Century. 

PAGE NO. 

349 340 Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864) is better 
known as a prose writer of classical taste and 
graceful style, than as a poet, though many 
critics consider him a master of the lighter 
forms of English verse. His most famous work 
is "Imaginary Conversations," written between 
1824 and 1829. The lines here given are from 
his latest work "The last Fruit of an old Tree," 
TVTitten when Landor was nearly four-score, and 
the strife of his youth had become a memory. 

349 341 Rose Aijlmer. This poem was first published 
in 1S06. Rose Aylmer was of the family of Lord 
Aylmer in Wales. The lines may fitly rank with 
Wordsworth's She dwelt among the xintrodden ways 
and Browning's Evelyn Hope. 

349 342 To Robert Browning. This graceful tribute was 

published in 1846, when Browning was fifty- 
seven and Landor seventy-one. The allusion 
to warmer climes in line ten refers to Browning's 
removal to Italy, where he resided until the 
death of jNIrs. Browning in 1861. 

350 344 Rondeau. Henry James Leigh Hunt (1784- 

1859) is, like Landor, more renowned as a prose 
writer, especially as an essayist, than as a poet, 
though he is the author of many poems of high 
•merit. This poem is not strictly a rondeau, which 
should have ten, or sometimes thirteen, lines, with 
but two rhymes, and with the opening words 
twice repeated. 

350 345 Three Men of Gotham. Thomas Love Peacock, 

who, like Lamb, was a clerk, afterwards an 
official, in the East India Company, was the 
author of several novels, from one of which, 
"Nightmare Abbey," this song is taken. Gotham 
is a village on the Trent, in Nottinghamshire, 
from which, tradition says : — 

"Three Wise Men of Gotham 

Went to sea in a bowl ; 

If the bowl had been stronger 

Mv song had been longer." 

351 346 Robert Stephen Hawker (1803-1875) was Vicar 

of Morwinstow in Cornwall. Sir Jonathan 
Trelawny, who was of an ancient familj' and 
much loved by the Cornish men, was one of 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 459 

PAGE NO. 

seven bishops who refused, in 1688, to read the 
King's Declaration of Indulgence. He was com- 
mitted to the Tower by James II. The song 
voices the indignation of the people at his arrest. 
He was afterwards tried and acquitted. 

352 347 The Shandon Bells are the chimes of St. Anne 
Shandon's Church in Cork. 

354 348 The Sontiets from the Porttipuese were written 
by Elizabeth Barrett, in 1849, the year before 
her marriage to Robert Browning. Despite the 
title, they are not translations, but original poems. 
The entire series comprises forty-four sonnets : 
the ones here given are numbers one, eight, ten, 
fourteen, and fortj'-three of the series. 

The reference to Theocritus is to the Fifteenth 
Idyll, lines 103-4 ; — 

"Still, though they move on lagging wing, 
The Hours some baimj' blessing bring." 
In Greek Mythology the Hours were the 
goddesses of the Seasons. 

356 353 A Musical Instrument is from the volume of 
"Last Poems," published in 1862, the year after 
Mrs. Browning's death. The god Pan, in Greek 
Mj^thology, was the god of woods and fields, of 
flocks and shepherds. He was fond of music 
and was the inventor of the Syrinx, or Shepherd's 
pipe, formed of reeds of different lengths so 
set as to complete the musical scale. To this 
invention the poem has reference. 

358 355 The Rubdiydt are translated by Edward Fitz- 
Gerald (1809-1883) from the Persian of Omar 
Khayyam, the Persian poet of the 11th century. 
A rubai is a stanza of four lines of equal length, 
the first, second and fourth riming, the third 
left blank. 

The translations of FitzGerald are exceedingly 
fine, many of the rubaiyat being really original 
stanzas on a Persian theme. The rubaiyat here 
given are from the original edition of Fitz- 
Gerald's translations, published in 1859. 

364 356 Richard ^Monckton Milnes, who was elevated 
to the peerage as Baron Houghton, by Lord 
Palmerston, in 1863, was a notable English 
parliamentarian who during his Parliamentary 
career took an active part in the movements 
of the day. He travelled extensively and 
befriended many j-oung writers and artists. He 
published several volumes of travels and poems 
and was the editor, in 1848, of "The Life and 
Letters of Keats." 

The poem here given is from his volume 
"Poems of Many Years," published in 1838. 



46o ADDITIONAL POEMS 

PAGE NO. 

366 357 The lyrics here given from Tennyson represent 
different periods of his poetic life. 

The Miller's Daughter is from the "Poems" 
of 1833 ; Break, break, break, from the second 
volume of "Poems" of 1842; The Brook, from 
"Maud and other posms," 1855; As thro' the 
land. The splendour falls on castle ivalls, Tears, 
idle tears and O Swallow, Swallow, from " The 
Princess," 1850; Ring out, wild bells, from 
section cvi, "In Memoriam," 1850; Come into 
the garden, Maud, from "Maud," 1885; In 
Love, if Love be Love, from Merlin and Vivien, in 
"Idylls of the King," 1859. 

375 367 The three l^-rice here given are from the dramatic 

poem "Pippa Passes," first published in 1841. 

376 370 In The Lost Leader, Browning had Wordsworth 

in mind, having the feeling that Wordsworth 
had grown conservative as he advanced in years. 
The poem is taken from "Bells and Pome- 
granates," 1845. Home Thoughts, from Abroad 
and Home Thoughts, from the Sea are from the 
same edition. 

379 373 Misconceptions : from " Men and Women, " 1855. 
A Woman's Last Word is from the second volume 
of the same edition. 

381 375 Rabbi Ben Ezra. This poem is from " Dramatia 
Personse, " 1864. Ibn Ezra, or Ben Ezra, into 
whose mouth Browning puts the reflections in 
this poem, was born in Toledo, Spain, about 
1090, and died about 1167. He was distin- 
guished as philosopher, astronomer, physician, 
and poet, but especially as a grammarian and 
commentator. The ideas of the poem are 
drawn largely from the v/ritings of Rabbi Ben 
Ezra. The opening line, "Grow old along with 
me," may be taken as an introduction to the 
thought of the poem, as if he had said, "Come, 
let us talk of old age." 

387 376 Charles Mackay (1814-1889) was an editor of 
English and Scottish newspapers and a writer 
of songs. This poem is taken from his "Ballads 
and Lyrical Poems," published in 1856. The 
Biblical reference for Tubal Cain -will be found in 
Genesis, iv. 22. 

389 377 Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861) was educated 
at Balliol College at Oxford, was some time 
fellow at Oriel and afterwards in Government 
work in the Education Office. He was an in- 
timate friend of Matthew Arnold, who com- 
memorated him in his elegiac poem, Thyrsis. 

Qua cursum venlus : wherever the wind 
directs the course. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 461 

PAGE NO. 

391 379 The Choir Invisible v,'ti3 first published in 1874 

M-.J^'l^r.^^^-^-'^ °^ '^"l'^^ ^^^, °ther Poems.'' 
Mary Ann Evans, afterwards Mrs. Cross 
known m literature as Geor^^e Eliot (1819- 
afo A^nf ■' "'"^'''^ '■5*^'?'' ""^.^ ^"^'t^^ of fi'^tion than 
^L^+£ f 'f''^'^ undoubtedly ranks as one of the 
greatest of English novelists, though her repu- 
tation IS better ^sustained by her earlier books. 
Adam Bede," ''Mill on the Floss," and "Silas 
Marner" than by her later and more pS 
sophical novels. piiuu- 

392 380 Chaxles Kingsley (1819-1875), Clergyman, Pro- 
ifv^H ^L^^'''^^^^.^*"^' Novelist, and Poet. 
rnnH:t;n^lfTK'^*''^ ^°' f'^, betterment of the 
condition of the poor and the oppressed. 

Airly Beacon was published in 1858 in "An- 
dromeda and other Poems"; The Sands of Dee 
3 from the twenty-sixth chapter of the novel 

fht '°^ ^''r^^S ^^^^' ^''"'^ "''d OM is f?om 

the second chapter of Kingslev's deliehtful 

qq4 -^^-^ ?''*^'7 °V'^^^ ^^'^t«^ Babies," 1863. ''^''^''*^"' 

394 383. Jean Ingelow (1820-1897) was born in Boston, 

n Lincolnshire, and was the author of severa 

/r^^^""- ;'' • ''!'^, ^""^ ^^°"«'^ f«^ children. The 

fn 1863 '" ""^ ^^' "P'^^"^^'" published 

399 384 Of the poems here given, A Summer Night is 

18^ ■ ^y^r'^°^^^' ^i^^*''^ ^^d other Poems,'' 
Ad^' Pf'^^mela and Requiescat are from the 

Poem?!" 1.%/'''= """"'^ '^"'^^^^ ^^ from "New 
409 388 Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) was equallv 
'^^r.T.^^.t -.^i?--i- -d wis tl^eTade^ 



„^;i — ' 1 ^ painter ana was the leader 

bS^hfn'Sin"^ 'J^*^ Pre-Raphaelite School' 
fl?i o • . *'^°r^-^^ '^ Poetry. In 1850, with 
the assistance of a few associates Vf the P e- 
Raphaehte Brotherhood, he founded "The 
Germ, a small monthly periodical of nnlv 

as th? ori^n ^T" .1.^"* ^"'^'"'^ ^T"«d distinction 

»7.i^ n "'^^ ?f th^ O''^^'" and in which The 

4n "^SO nl':'^'^ ^«:^«^^^ appeared in 1850. <^" ^ '^e 

4l.:i dS9 Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894) wn^ 

of" much 1-?^n?^"^^4' Rossetti and a poet 
ot much distinction. The two poems herp 
given are from her first book, "Gobhn Marke? 

414 391 While Alexander Smith (1820-1867) was a 
fn ' he" " gK:;^' ^-'f-^^^T,' he publish^edroems 
in 1I5I. ^L^Trlt k>n"'"p;er;''1^LT?e"«^"°^- 
appeared and made\%?nsa"ion' ni' beTam^e 



462 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 



Secretary of the University of Edinburgh in 
1854. Afterwards he edited an edition of 
Burns and published "Sonnets on the War," 
"City Poems," and "Edwin of Deira." The 
Song here given is from "City Poems," 1857. 
417 392 William Morris (1834-1896) gained distinction 
as decorative artist, as artistic painter, as poet, 
and as socialist and reformer. In connection 
with Rossetti he was one of the fovmders of 
"The Germ" and of the "Oxford and Cam- 
bridge Magazine," from which the poem here 
given is taken. He is especially noted as havmg 
applied the secret of beauty to decorative con- 
struction, and for the grace with which in his 
poetry he has reproduced the Germanic and 
Norse legendaries in fluent English Verse. 

417 394 James Thomson (183-1-1882) is best known as 

the author of "The City of Dreadful Night," 
1880, a poem somew^hat less considered now than 
when first publislied. 

The lines, ..4? we rush, are from a poem en- 
titled Sunday at Hampsteal, published in 1880. 

418 394 Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909) is 

best known for the perfection of his rhythms 
and for the beauty of his musical verse. Itylus 
is from his first series of "Poems and Ballads," 
1866; A Forsaken Garden from the second 
series of "Poems and Ballads," 1878. 
422-396 William Ernest Henley (1849-1903) was editor, 
playwright, critic, and poet. The UtIc here 
given, which is an assertion of tlie indomitable 
human will in the presence of adverse destiny, 
was written when Henley was himself stricken 
with illness. 

425 397 Francis Thompson (1859-1907) was a mystical 

po^, aflame with religious passion. His poems, 
which were published in two volumes, though 
appealing rather to the thoughtful few than to 
the casual reader, have permanent value. 

Of his longer poems, probably the most noted 
is The Houtid of Heaven. 

426 399 Alfred Noyes was born in 1880 ; he has pviblished 

many books of poetry. ' ' The heart of the child and 
the mind of the man are in him" says one critic. 

429 402 John Masefield was born in Ledbury in Western 
England in 1874. 

He was for many years a sailor, and he tells 
the secret of the seas in many of his first poems. 

433 406 William Butler Yeats was born in Dublin, in 
1865. After the Dublin Schools, he studied art 
in London for three years, but turned frorn art 
to literature and the drama. He has published 
a number of volumes of poetry. 



INDEX OF WRITERS 

WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH 



NUMBER 

Alexander, William (1580-1640). 

To Aurora xxix 

Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888). 

A Summer Night ccclxxxiv 

Philomela ccclxxxv 

Requiescat ccclxxxvi 

Rugby Chapel ccclxxxvii 

Barbauld, Anna Lsetitia (1743-1825). 

To Life ccvii 

Barnefield, Richard (16th century). 

The Nightingale xlv 

Beaumont, Francis (1586-1616). 

On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey . . xc 

Blake, William (1757-1827). 

Love's Secret clxxiv 

Infant Joy clxxx 

A Cradle Song clxxxi 

To the Muses ccvii' 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861). 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung . cccxlviii 

What can I give thee back cccxiix 

Yet love, mere love cccl 

If thou must love me cccli 

How do I love thee ccclii 

A Musical Instrument cccliii 

Browning, Robert (1812-1889). 

The year's at the spring ccclxvii 

Give her but the least excuse ccclxviii 

Day ccclxix 

The Lost Leader ccclxx 

Home Thoughts, from Abroad .... ccclxxi 

Home Thoughts, from the Sea .... ccclxxii 

Misconceptions ccclxxiii 

A Woman's Last Word ccclxxiv 

Rabbi Ben Ezra ccclxxv 



464 INDEX OF WRITERS 

NUMBER 

Burns, Robert (1759-1796). 

Lament for Culloden clxi 

A Farewell clxviii 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie doon . . . clxxvi 

To a Mouse clxxxiv 

Mary Morison clxxxviii 

Bonnie Lesley clxxxix 

O my Luve's like a red, red rose .... cxc 

Highland Mary cxci 

Duncan Gray cxciii 

Jean cxcvi 

John Anderson cxcvii 

Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788-1S24). 

All for Love ccxii 

There be none of Beauty's daughters . . ccxiv 

She walks in beaut j-, like the night . . . ccxvi 

When we two parted ccxxxiv 

Elegy on ThjTza ccxivi 

On the Castle of Chillon ccliii 

Youth and Age cclxvi 

Elegy cclxxv 

Campbell, Thomas (1777-1S44). 

Lord UUin's Daughter ccxxv 

To the Evening Star ccxxxi 

Earl March look'd on his dying child . . ccxli 

Ye Mariners of England ccl 

Battle of the Baltic ccii 

Hohenlinden cclix 

The Beech Tree's Petition ccxcv 

Ode to Winter ccciv 

Song to the Evening Star cccx 

The Soldier's Dream cccxiv 

The River of Life cccxxxii 

Campion, Thomas (c. 1567-1620). 

Basia xxv 

AdA^ice to a Girl xxvi 

In Imagine Pertransit Homo I 

Sleep, angry beauty, sleep Hi 

A Renunciation Iv 

O Crudelis Amor lix 

Sic Transit \xxvi 

The man of life upright l:j;xix 

A Hymn in Praise of Neptune . . . . ci 

Fortunati Nimium cxliii 

Carew, Thomas (1589-1639), 

The True Beauty cxii 

Carey, Henry ( 1743). 

Sally in our Alley clxvii 



INDEX OF WRITERS 465 

NUMBER 

Gibber, CoUey (1671-1757). 

The Blind Boy civ 

Clough, Arthur Hugh (1819-1861). 

Qua cursum ventus ccclxxvii 

Where lies the land ccclxxviii 

Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849). 

She is not fair to outward view .... ccxviii 

Coleridge, Samuel Taj'lor (1772-1834). 

Love (Genevieve) ccxi 

Jvubla Khan cccxvi 

Youth and Age cccxxix 

Collins, John (18th century). 

Tomorrow ccvi 

Collins, William (1720-1756). 

Ode to Simplicity cliii 

Ode written in 1746 clx 

The Passions clxxviii 

Ode to Evening clxxxvi 

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667). 

A Supplication cxxx 

On the Death of Mr. William Hervey . . cxxxvii 

Cowper, William (1731-1800). 

Loss of the Royal George clxv 

To a Young Lady c!xx 

The Poplar Field clxxxiii 

The Shrubbery cc 

The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk . . . ccii 

To ]\Iary Unwin cciii 

To the Same '^civ 

The Castaway ccv 

Crash.\w, Richard (16157-1652). 

Wishes for the Supposed Mistress . . . ciii 

Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842). 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea .... ocxlix 

Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619). 

Care-Charmer Sleep xivi 

Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?). 

The Happj^ Heart Ixxv 

Devereux, Robert (Earl of Essex) (1567-1601). 

A Wish Ixxxiii 

Donne, John (1573-1631). 

Present in Absence r.i'i 

Drayton, Michael (1563-1631). 

Love's Farewell xlix 

2h 



466 INDEX OF WRITERS 

NTJMBER 

Drummond, William (1585-1649). 

Summons to Love iv 

A Lament Ixi 

To his Lute Ixiii 

This Life, which seems so fair Ixxvii 

The Lessons of Nature Ixxx 

Doth then the world go thus? Ixxxi 

Saint John Baptist Ixxxiv 

Dryden, John (1631-1700). 

Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 .... Ixxxvi 
Alexander's Feast cli 

Eliot, George (Mary Ann Cross) (1819-1S80). 

O may I join the choir invisible .... ccclxxix 

Elliott, Jane (18th century). 

The Flowers of the Forest (Flodden) . . clxii 

FitzGerald, Edward (1809-1883). 

Rubaiydt of Omar Kha>-yam ccciv 

Fletcher, John (1576-1625). 

Melancholy cxxxii 

Gay, John (1685-1732). 

Black-eyed Susan clxvi 

Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774). 

When lovely woman stoops to folly . . . clxxv 

Graham, Robert (1735-1797). 

If doughty deeds my lady please .... clxix 

Gray, Thomas (1716-1771). 

Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude clii 

On a Favourite Cat clvi 

The Bard clix 

The Progress of Poesy clxxvii 

Ode on the Spring clxxxii 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard . clxxxvii 
Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College cxcix 
Hymn to Adversity cci 

Greene, Robert (1561?-1592). 

Sephestia's Song to her Child Ix 

Habington, William (1605-1645). 

Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam ccxiviii 

Hawker, Robert Stephen (1803-1875). 

And shall Trelawny die cccxivi 

Henley, William Ernest (1849-1903). 

Out of the night cccxcvi 



INDEX OF WRITERS 467 

NUMBER 

Herbert, George (1593-1632). 

The Gifts of God xcvii 

Herrick, Robert (1591-1674?). 

Counsel to Girls gyjjj 

To Dianeme cxiii 

Corinna's Maying ....'.".''' cxviii 

The Poetry of Dress, I. ... cxix 

To Anthea cxxiv 

To Blossoms • • • " 

To Daffodils '.'.'... cxl 

HETW90D, Thomas ( 1649?). 

Give my Love good-morrow Ixxiii 

Hood, Thomas (1798-1845). 

Past and Present cclxviii 

The Bridge of Sighs .... • • • ^^j'^^j^ 

The Death Bed .' ." .' pclxxix 

Houghton, Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord (1809-1885) 
The Men of Old ccclvi 

Hunt, James Henry Leigh (1784-1859). 

Rondeau cccxliv 

Ingelow, Jean (1820-1897). 

The High Tide ccclxxxiii 

JoNSON, Ben (1574-1637). 

The Noble Nature xcvi 

Hymn to Diana ! 1 cii 

To Celia _ cxvi 

Keats, John (1795-1821). 

Ode on the Poets ccix 

On first looking into Chapman's Homer '. cox 

Happy Insensibility ccxxxv 

La Belle Dame sans ]Merci ccxxxvii 

Bright Star ! \ \ ccxlii 

The Terror of Death ' .' ccxiiii 

The Mermaid Tavern cclxxii 

Ode to a Nightingale ccxo 

To one who has been long in city pent . . ccxcii 

Ode to Autumn ccciii 

The Realm of Fancy ." cccxviii 

Ode on a Grecian Urn cccxxviii 

The Human Seasons cccxxxiii 

KiNGSLEY, Charles (1819-1875). 

Airly Beacon ccclxxx 

1 he bands of Dee ccclxxxi 

Young and Old .' .' ccclxxxii 

2h 2 



468 INDEX OF WRITERS 

NUMBER 

Lamb, Mary (1764-lSi7). 

In Memoriam cclxxxiii 

Lamb, Charles (177o-lS.3o). 

The Old Familiar Faces cclxiv 

Hester cclxxvi 

On an Infant dying as soon as born . . . cclxxxii 

Landor, Walter Savage (1775-1864). 

Rose Aylmer cccxli 

I strove with none cccxl 

Proud word you never spoke cccxliii 

To Robert Browning cccxlii 

Lindsay, Anne (1750-1S25). 

Auld Robin Gray ....'.... cxcii 

Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625). 

Rosaline xix 

Rosalynd's Madrigal Ixxi 

Logan, John (1748-1788). 

The Braes of Yarrow clxiii 

Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658). 

To Lucasta, on going to the Wars . . . cix 

To Althea from Prison cxxvii 

To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas . . . cxxviii 

Lylye, John (1554-1600). 

Cupid and Campaspe Ixxii 

Lyte, Henry Francis (1793-1847). 

A Lost Love ccxxiv 

Agnes cclxxx 

Mackay, Charles (1814-1889). 

Tubal Cain ccclxxvi 

Mahony, Francis Sylvester ("Father Prout") (1804-1866), 

The Shandon Bells cccxlvii 

Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593). 

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love . . vii 

Marvell, Andrew (1620-1678). 

Horatian Ode, upon Cromwell's return from 

Ireland Ixxxviii 

The Picture of Little T. C ev 

The Girl describes her Fawn cxli 

Thoughts in a Garden cxlii 

Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda . . . cxlvi 

Masefield, John (1874 ). 

The West Wind ccccii 

The Golden City of St. Mary cccciii 

Roadways cccciv 

Sea Fever ccccv 



INDEX OF WRITERS 469 

NUMBER 

MicKLE, William Julius (1734-1788). 

The Sailor's Wife cxiv 

Milton, John (1608-1674). 

Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity . Ixxxv 

On the late Massacre in Piedmont . . . Ixxxvii 

Lycidas Ixxxix 

When the Assault was intended to the City xciii 

On his Blindness xciv 

To ^Ir. Lawrence xcix 

To Cyriack Skinner c 

To the Lady Margaret Ley cxi 

L' Allegro cxliv 

II Penseroso cxlv 

At a Solemn Music cxlvii 

Moore, Thomas (1780-1852). 

Echoes ccxxix 

At the mid hour of night ccxlv 

Pro Patria Mori cclxi 

The Journey Onwards cclxv 

The Light of Other Days cclxix 

Morris, William (1834-1896). 

Summer Dawn cccxcii 

Nairn, Carolina (1766-1845). 

The Land o' the Leal cxcviii 

Nash, Thomas (1567-1601?). 

Spring i 

NoRRis, John (1657-1711). 

Hymn to Darkness cxlix 

Norton, Caroline Elizabeth Sarah (Lady Stirling 
Maxwell) (1808-1877). 
I do not love thee cccliv 

NoYEs, Alfred (1880 ). 

Song cccxcix 

Love's Rosary cccc 

Song of Hanrahan the Red cccci 

Peacock, Thomas Love (1785-1866). 

Three men of Gotham cccxlv 

Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749). 

To Charlotte Pulteney clvii 

Pope, Alexander (1688-1744). 

Solitude cliv 

Prior, Matthew (1662-1721). 

The merchant, to secure his treasure . . clxxiii 



470 INDEX OF WRITERS 

NUMBER 

QuARLES, Francis (1592-1644). 

A Mystical Ecstasy cxxiii 

Rogers, Samuel (1762-1855). 

The Sleeping Beauty clxxi 

A Wish clxxxv 

RossETTi, Christina Georgina (1830-1894). 

. Song ccclxxxix 

A Birthday cccxc 

RossETTi, Dante Gabriel (1828-1882). 

The IBlessed Damozel ccclxxxviii 

Scott, Walter (1771-1832). 

The Outlaw ccxiii 

Jock o' Hazeldean ccxxvii 

A Serenade ccxxx 

Where shall the Lover rest ? ccxxxvi 

The Rover ccxxxviii 

The Maid of Neidpath ccxl 

Gathering Song of Donald the Black . . ccxlviii 

The Pride of Youth cclxxiii 

Coronach cclxxviii 

Rosabelle cclxxxi 

Hunting Song cclxxxv 

Datur Hora Quieti cccxi 

Sedley, Charles (1639-1701). 

Child and Maiden cvi 

Not, Celia, that I juster am cxxvi 

Shakespeare, William (1564-1616). 

The Fairy Life, I ii 

" " "II iii 

Sonnet-Time and Love, I v 

" "II vi 

A Madrigal ix 

Under the greenwood tree x 

It was a lover and his lass xi 

Sonnet — Absence xiv 

" " XV 

" A Consolation xvi 

" The Unchangeable xvii 

" To his Love xxiii 

" " " xxiv 

Love's Perjuries xxvii 

Sonnet — True Love xxxi 

Carpe Diem xxxv 

Winter xxxvii 

Sonnet — That time of year xxxviii 

" Memory xxxix 

" Revolutions xli 

" Farewell ! xlii 

*' The Life without Passion . . . xliii 



INDEX OF WRITERS 471 

Shakespeare — (Continued) . xumber 

Frustra — Take, O take those lips away . xlviii 

Sonnet — Blind Love . li 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind Ivi 

Dirge of Love Ixii 

Fidele — Fear no more the heat .... Ixiv 

A Sea Dirge Ixv 

Sonnet — Post Mortem Ixvii 

" The Triumph of Death . . . Ixviii 

Young Love Ixix 

Sonnet — Soul and Bodj' ...... Ixxviii 

■ " The World's Way ..... ixxxii 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822). 

N^he Indian Serenade ccxv XO^ 

I fear th J' kisses, gentle maiden .... ccxix.^C'S 

Love's Philosophy ccxxviii;L/6 

To the Night ccxxxii;2./9 

The Flight of Love ccxxxix > X <^ 

One word is too often profaned .... ccxlvii ^ ''' •' 
, .' Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples . cclxx^- - • 

«ro a Skylark cclxxxvii jr " 

\ Dzymandias of Egypt ccxciii :; < u 

£1,0 a Lady, with a Guitar ecc 

,The Invitation cccvii 

\ /The Recollection ccc\'iii 

■^ To the Moon cccxii 

.A Dream of the Unknown cccxv 

, /Written among the Euganean Hills . . . cccxxi 

"^ Ode to the West Wind cccxxii 

V'The Poet's Dream cccxxiv 

A Dirge cccxxxiv 

. yThrenos cccxxxv 

i' Music, when soft voices die cccxxxix 

Shirley, James (1596-1666). 

The Last Conqueror xci 

Death the Leveller cxii 

Sidney, Philip (1554-1586). 

Via Amoris i . . . xiii 

A Ditty xxxii 

Sleep . xl 

The Nightingale xlvii 

The Moon Iviii 

Smart, Christopher (1722-1770). 

The Song of David clxxix 

Smith, Alexander (1830-1867). 

Barbara cccxci 

SouTHEY, Robert (1774-1843). 

After Blenheim cclx 

The Scholar celxxi 



472 INDEX OF WRITERS 

NUMBER 

Spenser, Edmund (1553-1598-9). 

Prothalamion Ixxiv 

Suckling, John (1608-9-1641). 

Encouragements to a Lover cxxix 

Swinburne, Algernon Charles (1837-1909). 

Itylus cccxciv 

A Forsaken Garden cccxcv 

Sylvester, .Joshua (1563-1618). 

Love's Omnipresence xxxiv 

Tennyson, Alfred Lord (1809-1892). 

As thro' the land at eve we went .... ccclx 

Break, Break, Break ccclviii 

Come into the garden, Maud ccclxv 

In Love, if Love be Love ccclxvi 

O Swallow, Swallow ccclxiii 

Ring out, wild bells ccclxiv 

Tears, idle tears ccclxii 

The Splendour falls ccclxi 

The Brook ccclix 

The Miller's Daughter ccclvii 

Thompson, Francis (1859-1907). 

Daisy cccxcvii 

The Sinking Sun cccxcviii 

Thomson, .James (1700-1748). 

Rule Britannia clviii 

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove . . . clxxii 

Thomson, .James (1834-1882). 

As we rush cccxciii 

Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695). 

The Retreat xcviii 

Friends in I'aradise cxxxviii 

A Vision el 

Verstegan, Richard (c. 1635). 

Upon my lap my sovereign sits .... cxxxiv 

Waller, Edmund (1605-1687). 

Go, lovely Rose cxv 

On a Girdle cxxii 

Webster, John ( 1638?). 

A Laud Dirge Ixvi 

WiLMOT, John (1647-1680). 

Constancy cvii 

Wither, George (1588-1667). 

The Manly Heart cxxxi 



i 



INDEX OF WRITERS 473 

NUMBER 

Wolfe, Charles (1791-1823). 

The Burial of Sir John Moore cclxii 

To Mary cclxxvii 

Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). 

She was a phantom of delight ccxvii >[ p 4 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways . . ccxx JlO^ 

I travell'd among unknown men .... ccxxi_^^^T^ 

The Education of Nature ccxxii-*-'' 

A slumber did my spirit seal cexxiiii-''' 

Lucy Gray ccxxvi s. »3 

To a distant Friend ccxxxiii ?i5te 

/ Desideria ccxliv;i3C? 

{/AP Ode to Duty cclii i'^^ 

^, - ' England and Switzerland, 1802 .... cclivx-f-/ 

'?;»'■■. -' V On the extinction of the Venetian Republic cclv;.' */l 

, / London, 1802 cclvi>.V* 

^^sjAv^'V. . j/ '^^ ii„-; cclvii;x<:^ *^ 

' _ , When I have borne in memory .... cclviii >'^' vj^ 

Y Simon Lee cclxiii ; • \ 

A Lesson cclxvii 

• The Affliction of Margaret cclxxxiv, 

\ '■ To the Skylark cclxxxvi j .' 3 

The Green Linnet cclxxxviiijr ' ' 

/To the Cuckoo cclxxxix ' "•' 

^ Upon Westminster Bridge ccxci • 

Composed at Neidpath Castle ccxciy 

Admonition to a Traveller ccxcvi- 

To the Highland Girl of Inversneydo . . ccxvii , • ^ 

^'.The Reaper ccxviii- ■"" 

V •'nJ^'*"^'^^^^® Reverie of poor Susan ccxcix 

V ^^ v';The Daffodils ccci 

To the Daisy cccii 

.Yarrow Unvisited, 1803 cccv 

- Yarrow Visited, 1814 occvi ■ ■ 

By the Sea cccix ;»<^3 . 

To Sleep cccxiii305 

The Inner Vision cccxvii3^9 

. Written in Early Spring cccxix3/x 

,• Ruth, or the Influence of Nature . . . cccxx3'JJ 

Nature and the Poet cccxxiii327 

Glen-Almain, the Narrow Glen .... cccxxv 324 

The World is too much with us ... . cccxxviS^W 

Within King's College Chapel, Cambridge cccxxvii33' 

The Two April Mornings cccxxx ??" 

The Fountain cccxxxi33^ 

The Trossachs cccxxxvi j?**^^ 

My heart leaps up . . . cccxxx vii '3'''^ 

"i t)de on Intimations of Immortality . . . cccxxxviiiC?^/ 

WooTTON, Henry (1568-1639). 

Character of a Happy Life xcv 

Elizabeth of Bohemia ex 



474 INDEX OF WRITERS 

NUMBER 

Wyat, Thomas (1502-1542). 

A Supplication xxviii 

Thie Lover's Appeal xliv 

Yeats, William Butler (1865 ). 

The Lake lale of Innisfree ccccvi 

Anonymous. 

Omnia Vincit viii 

Colin XX 

A Picture xxi 

A Song for Music xxii 

In Lacrimas xxx 

Love's Insight xxxiii 

An honest Autolycus xxxvi 

The Unfaithful Shepherdess liii 

Advice to a Lover liv 

A sweet Lullaby Ivii 

A Dilemma Ixx 

The Great Adventurer civ 

Love in thy youth, fair Maid cxiv 

Cherry Ripe cxvii 

My Love in her attire cxxi 

Love not me for comely grace .... cxxv 

Forsaken cxxxiii 

Fair Helen cxxxv 

The Twa Corbies cxxvi 

Willie Drowned in Yarrow clxiv. 

Absence cxcv 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 211 

A child's a plaything for an hour ." 270 

A flock of sheep that leisurelj- pass by . . . . . 305 

A good sword and a trusty hand , [ 351 

A slumber did my spirit seal ........ 210 

A sweet disorder in the dress .......'.* 95 

A weary lot is thine, fair maid ...."...'. 225 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea .... . . .' " 235 

Absence, hear thou this protestation .....' 8 

Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit [ 86 

Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh ' 217 

Ah what avails the sceptred race ...... 349 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon . . 392 

All day I tell my rosary " ' 497 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd . . . . . 149 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights ...... 199 

And are ye sure the news is true ... ' 181 

And is this — Yarrow? — This the Stream . . '. '. 297 

And thou art dead, as young and fair 231 

And wilt thou leave me thus 26 

Ariel to ^liranda ; — Take . . . 288 

Art thou pale for weariness . 305 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers . . . 50 

As it fell upon a day 27 

As I was walking all alane . . 107 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay ...... 389 

As slow our ship her foamy traclc [ 251 

As thro' the land at eve we went 369 

As we rush, as we rush in the train ...... 417 

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight aiDpeans 288 

At the mJd hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly 230 

Avenge, O Lord ! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones 64 

Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake 157 

Awake, awake, my LjTe . '. 101 

Avvake! for morning in the bowl of night . . . . 358 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth I97 

Beauty sat bathing by a spring ' 1.3 

Behold her, single in Ihe field .......'. 287 

Being your slave, M-hat should I do but tend . . 9 

Beneath tbese fruit-tree boughs that shed .... 277 

Best and brightest, come away [ 299 

Bid me to live, and I will live ! ! ! 97 



476 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy . . . 125 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 34 

Break, break, break 367 

Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art . . 228 

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren .... 41 

Calm was the day, and through the trembling air . 45 

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 75 

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the Sable Night ... 28 

Coldly, sadly descends 403 

Come away, come away. Death 38 

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me .... 51 

Come into the garden, Maud 372 

Come little babe, come silly soul 35 

Come live with me and be mj^ Love 5 

Come, Sleep! O Sleep! the certain knot of peace . 24 

Come vmto these yellow sands 2 

Crabbed Age and Youth 6 

Cupid and my Campasp6 play'd 44 

Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench ... 80 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power 188 

Daughter to that good Earl, once President ... 89 

Day 376 

Degenerate Douglas ! oh, the unworthy lord . . . 283 

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move . . 54 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay 147 

Drink to me only with thine eyes 92 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo 180 

Earl March look'd on his dying child 228 

Earth has not anything to show more fair .... 281 

E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks .... 96 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 240 

Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky 273 

Ever let the Fancy roam 310 

Fain would I change that note 6 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see Ill 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 110 

Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing ... 25 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun 40 

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new 22 

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow 30 

For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 155 

Forget not yet the tried intent 18 

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year .... 339 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony .... 63 

From Stirling Castle we had seen 295 

Full fathom five thy father lies 40 

Gather ye rose-buds while j^e may 87 

Gem of the crimson-colour 'd Even 218 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 477 

PAGE 

Get up, get up, for shame ! The blooming morn . . 93 

Give her but a least excuse to love me 375 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 152 

Go, lovely Rose 91 

Grow old along with me 381 

Hail thou most sacred venerable thing 128 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit 274 

Happj' the man, whose wish and care 136 

Happy those early days, when I 78 

Happy were he could finish forth his fate .... 55 

Hark ! ah, the nightingale 402 

He that loves a rosy cheek 90 

He is gone on the mountain 264 

Hence, all you vain delights 103 

Hence, loathM Melancholy 116 

Hence, vain deluding Joys 120 

He sang of God, the mighty source 164 

High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be . . . 9 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways . . . 356 

How graciously thou wear'st the yoke 425 

How happy is he born and taught 76 

How like a winter hath my absence been .... 10 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest 144 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 217 

How vainly men themselves amaze 113 

I am monarch of all I survey 190 

I arise from dreams of Thee 205 

I came to the doors of the House of Love .... 426 

I cannot change, as others do 87 

I come from haunts of coot and hern 367 

I do not love thee ! — no ! I do not love thee . . . 357 

I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way .... 307 

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 208 

I have had playmates, I have had companions . . 250 

I have no name 165 

I heard a thousand blended notes 312 

I know not that the men of old 364 

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face 211 

I met a traveller from an antique land 282 

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and 

the sky 432 

I remember, I remember 254 

I saw Eternity the other night 129 

I saw her in childhood 265 

I saw my lady weep 19 

I saw where in the shroud did lurk 268 

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife . 349 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung .... 354 

I travell'd among unknown men 208 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 291 



478 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



PAGE 

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile . . . 327 

I wish I were where Helen lies 106 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 170 

If doughty deeds my ladj- please 153 

If I had thought thou couldst have died 263 

If thou must love me, let it be for naught .... 355 

If Thou survive my well-contented day 41 

If to be absent were to be 100 

I'm wearing awa', Jean 184 

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland . 420 

In a drear-nighted December 222 

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours .... 375 

In the deserted moon-blanch'd street 399 

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining . . 195 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan 248 

In this still place, remote from men 329 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 308 

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 303 

It is not growing like a tree 77 

It is the miller's daughter 366 

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of bird's cries . 429 

It was a dismal and a fearful night 108 

It was a lover and his lass 8 

It was a summer evening 244 

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking .... 145 

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree .... 433 

Jack and Joan, they think no ill 115 

Jenny kissed me when we met 350 

John Anderson my jo, John 185 

Just for a handful of silver he left us 376 

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting .... 43 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son .... 79 

Let me not to the m.arriage of true minds .... 20 

Let's contend no more 379 

Life ! I know not what thou art 196 

Like as the waves make towards the pebVjled shore . 25 

Like to the clear in highest sphere 12 

Love in my bosom, like a bee 43 

Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise 90 

Love not me for comely grace 98 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 166 

Many a green isle needs must be 320 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings 191 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour . . . 242 

Mine be a cot beside the hill 169 

Mortality, behold and fear 73 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 309 

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold . . . 199 

Music, when soft voices die 346 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 479 

•»T 1 , ^ , PAGE 

My days among the Dead are past 257 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness'^pains . . 279 

My heart leaps up when I behold 341 

My heart's like a singing bird 414 

My Love in her attire doth shew her wit . . . . 96 

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow . 39 

My thoughts hold mortal strife 38 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his . . ! 20 

Never love unless you can 16 

Never seek to tell thy love ...'.'.'. '. " ] 156 
Nobly, nobl3' Cape Saint Vincent to the Nortli-West 

died away 373 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 42 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note .... 247 

Not, Celia, that I .iu.ster am ' gg 

Now the golden ]\Iorn aloft ! ! 133 

Now the last day of manj^ days ...:.... 301 

O blithe new-comer ! I have heard . . 278 

O Brignall banks are wild and fair ....'.'. 203 

O Friend ! I know not which way I must look . . 242 

O happy shades ! to me unblest ^ '. 188 

O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm .* . . 18 

O leave this barren spot to me 283 

O listen, listen, ladies gay . . . 266 

O lovers' eyes are sharp to see [ [ 227 

O Mary, at thy window be ..... ^ ."' I75 

O Mary, go and call the cattle home ...... 393 

O may I join the choir invisible 39I 

Ome! what eyes hath love put in my head . . . 31 

O Mistress mine, where are you roammg .... 22 

O my Luve's like a red, red rose . . " . . '. [ ' 177 

O never say that I was false of heart ...... 11 

O saw ye bonnie Lesley 176 

O say what is that thing call'd Light ...... 13Q 

O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South .... 371 

O talk not to me of a name great in storv ... 202 

O Thou, by Nature taught ....'.... 1.34 

O waly waly up the bank . . ! ! 1 04 

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ... 224 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being .' 325 

O World! OLife! O Time 34O 

Oh, Death will never find us in the heart of the' wood 428 

Oh, to be in England, now that April's there . . . 378 

Obscurest night involved the sky I93 

Of all the girls that are so smart ....'!!. 151 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw ...... 183 

Of Nelson and the North . . 237 

Of Neptune's empire let us sing ........ 80 

Of this fair volume which we World do name . . 53 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 213 



48o INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

Oft in the stilly night 255 

Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom 262 

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 387 

On a day, alack the day 17 

On a Poet's lips I slept 329 

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee .... 241 

On the Sabbath-day 414 

One more Unfortunate 259 

One word is too often profaned 233 

On Linden, when the sun was low 243 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd 306 

Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way . . 430 

Out of the night that covers me 422 

Over the mountains 84 

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 45 

Phoebus, arise, 2 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 233 

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 52 

Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips . 417 

Proud Maisie is in the wood 258 

Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak . . 350 

Qvieen and Huntress, chaste and fair 81 

Ring out, wild bells, from the wild sky 371 

Rough Wind, that moanest loud 339 

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 140 

Seamen three ! what men be ye 350 

Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness 293 

See with what simplicity 85 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day 15 

Shall I, wasting in despair 102 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 208 

She is not fair to outward view 207 

She walks in beauty, like the night 206 

She was a Phantom of delight 206 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea . 4 

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part . . 30 

Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me .... 31 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile 154 

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 165 

Souls of Poets dead and gone 257 

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king . 1 

Star that bringest home the bee 304 

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 23S 

Strew on her roses, roses 403 

Surprized by joy — impatient as the wind .... 23C 

Swallow, my sister, O sister Swallow 41S 

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 9C 

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 28f 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 481 

PAGE 

Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory . . 14 

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade . . 154 

Swiftly walk over the western wave 219 

Take, O take those lips away 29 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense .... 331 

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean . . . 370 

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 88 

Tell me where is Fancy bred 42 

That time of year thou niay'st in me behold ... 23 

That which her slender waist confined 96 

The blessM damozel leaned out 409 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day .... 172 

The forward youth that would appear 65 

The fountains mingle with the river 216 

The glories of our blood and state 74 

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King . . 55 

The lovely lass o' Inverness 144 

The man of life upright 52 

The merchant, to secure his treasure 155 

The more we live, more brief appear 338 

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth .... 28 

The old mayor climbed the belfrj' tower 394 

The poplars are fell'd ; farewell to the shade . . . 167 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 204 

There is a flower, the lesser Celandine 253 

There is a garden in her face 92 

There is delight in singing, tho' none hear .... 349 
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes 

away 252 

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass .... 340 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream . 341 

The sea hath many thousand sands 33 

The sun is warm, the sky is clear 256 

The sun upon the lake is low 304 

The splendour falls on castle walls 369 

The twentieth year is well-nigh past 192 

The world is too much with us ; late and soon . . 330 

They are all gone into the world of light 109 

The year's at the spring 375 

They that have power to hurt, and will do none . . 26 

This is a spray the Bird clung to 379 

This is the month, and this the happy morn ... 56 

This Life, which seems so fair 51 

Though others may her brow adore 21 

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white .... 34 

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness 331 

Three years she grew in sun and shower .... 209 

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream 146 

Timely blossom. Infant fair 138 

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry .... 54 

Toll for the Brave 148 

2i 



482 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

PAGE 

To me, fair Friend, you never can be old .... 11 

To one who has been long in city pent 282 

Turn back, you wanton flyer 16 

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 129 

'Twas on a lofty vase's side 137 

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea 241 

Under the greenwood tree 7 

Upon my lap my sovereign sits 105 

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straj'ing 333 

Victorious men of earth, no more 74 

Waken, lords and ladies gay 272 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tira'rous beastie 168 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ... 37 

Weep you no more, sad fountains 14 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain 21 

We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 336 

We walk'd along, while bright and red 334 

We watch'd her breathing thro' the night .... 265 

What can I give thee back, O liberal 354 

What was he doing, the great God Pan 356 

When all the world is young, lad 393 

When as in silks my Julia goes 95 

When Britain first at Heaven's command .... 139 

When first the fiery-mantled Sun 294 

When God at first made Man 78 

When be who adores thee has left but the name . . 246 

When I am dead, my dearest 413 

When icicles hang by the wall 23 

When I consider how my liglit is spent 76 

When I have borne in memory what has tamed . . 243 

When I have fears that I may cease to be . . . . 229 

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced . . 4 

When I survey the bright 126 

When I think on the happy days 182 

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes ... 10 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 15 

When lovely woman stoops to folly 156 

When Love with unconfined wings 9.9 

When maidens such as Hester die 262 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young .... 161 

When Ruth was left half desolate 313 

When the lamp is shatter'd 226 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame . 178 

When thou must home to shades of underground . . 37 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought ... 24 

When we two parted 221 

Where art thou, my beloved Son 270 

Where lies the land to which the ship would go . . 390 

Where shall the lover rest 222 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 483 

PAGE 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I 2 

Where the remote Bermudas ride 124 

Where the thistle lifts a purple crown 423 

Whether on Ida's shady brow 197 

While that the sun with his beams hot 32 

Whoe'er she be 82 

Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant .... 220 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover 100 

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 215 

With deep affection 352 

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies 36 

With little here to do or see 291 

With sweetest milk and sugar first 112 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 177 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 157 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 185 

Ye Mariners of England 235 

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye 284 

Yet love, mere love, is beautiful indeed 355 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more ... 68 

You meaner beauties of the night 88 



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